Reaching for Stars
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: Snapshots of life for Sam and Jack following Sam's graduation. Neither of them thought long-distance would be so hard, especially when they were so close. AU. Second in the Stars series. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: In honor of Ship Day, here is the first installment of the next story in the Stars series. I hope you like! HAPPY SHIP DAY!

* * *

Jack felt his phone vibrate against his leg, and reflexively knew who it was. The clipped voice on the other end confirmed it. "Hey, Ronnie. What's up?"

It was a sad state of things, that Ronica called him more often than Sam did. But Sam was busy, and Ronica understood that Jack worried. Sam's summer political tour with her father had been extended at the last minute, preventing him from getting the chance to see her before he was sucked into the inner sanctum of the Air Force Academy. A few months into the term gave him a bit more freedom, but not enough to make the trip up there to visit. His first lib was coming up soon, but he'd be lucky if he got the chance to tell Sam in time.

He'd briefly entertained the notion of blowing off his own classes and going AWOL, but his pride always nixed it before it got any farther than daydreaming. He couldn't abandon his own dreams and chase after her… not and still be able to look her in the eye.

So he accepted Ronica's updates, and held them close.

"Nothing new since last week."

Jack paused in his stride, drawing to a stop. He drew a breath to speak, but then blew it out again. What could he say? How could he say it? More importantly, how could he say it without coming off as a—

"Something on your mind?"

Dammit. "Yeah," he groaned, rubbing a hand against his temple. "I just—is…" He sighed. "Is Sam catching flak about her dad?" Ronica didn't answer right away. "Something she said last time we spoke, made me wonder if…" If something had happened, if someone had done something to get under her skin.

"Well," Ronica hemmed, "a little. Frat guys mostly, trying to shake her up a bit."

"Sons of…" His growl sounded as useless as he felt.

Ronica seemed to read his mind. "It's nothing she can't handle," she assured him. "I think even the Young Republicans on campus are more aggressive than these guys. And they're not outright antagonistic or anything... They're just immature, and it's wearing her down a little. It's just one more thing she has to deal with."

Jack ground his teeth together. He should be there. He should knock their friggin' teeth in—

"And before you fly off the handle and storm over here to defend her honor, try and remember that anything _she_ can't handle, I can." Jack could hear her smile. "She's in good hands."

A chuckle trickled from him, a flash of levity brightening his darkening mood. "I know… But…"

"But you care." A warmth pooled in her voice, and Jack felt his mood lifting even more. Regardless of how the President felt about him, he had the Ronica stamp of approval. "It's just a change, Jack. She's adjusting."

Yeah. Party Central, Colorado was a far cry from the disciplined student body of her high school. At least those stuck-up snobs had had discretion—well, that or they were self-involved enough to not give a hoot that they rubbed shoulders with the First Daughter.

"But you know…" Ronica chirped, her voice suddenly devious. "If you were able to make your way up here on your next lib," which was next week, Jack deduced she knew, "I don't think she'll complain."

* * *

The cab fare from the base to Denver was as obscene as the cabbie's language. But as Jack forked over the cash, he felt the thrill of excitement humming through every fiber of his body. It was like he could feel her getting closer, even though he had no clue where exactly on the campus she was.

The cab sped away as soon as the final bill was in his palm, and Jack hefted his go-bag higher on his shoulder. He checked his watch. Almost seven. Ronica would be shooting him a message soon…

His phone buzzed. _General's Park, along Hutton Street, fifteen minutes._

Oh, crap. He pulled out his creased print out of the campus map he'd brought with him. Five blocks. He could make it, if he ran. And run he did, putting on all the speed he could manage. The thrill hummed louder, drowning out his murmured apologies as he bumped into other pedestrians.

His pack thudded against his back, urging him faster with each passing step. He dashed across a final crosswalk and he was there, the green leaves of the park beckoning him deeper. He slowed to a walk, catching his breath, which returned rather quickly. His heart, on the other hand, continued to race, thundering in his ears.

He saw Ronica first, her figure tall and steadfast in the growing shadows. She and another agent kept careful watch, and her lips curled upwards when she saw him. But she said nothing.

Sam sat six feet away, her back against a tree with a heavy textbook spread across her lap. An open bookbag sat next to her, and she remained oblivious to the gazes sent her way from the gaggle of guys lingering next to a nearby water fountain. The Frisbee in their midst belied their original intent, but had clearly proven an inadequate substitute to ogling.

Jack let the wave of protectiveness—and yeah, okay, jealousy too—swell and wash over him, but then let it keep going, feeling it drip away until all he could see was her. He stood there, for a long minute, watching her as well. For a split second she seemed exactly how she did the last time he saw her, that same gawky teenager with legs a little too long for the rest of her, and the intent focus that seemed incongruous to her age. But then he looked deeper, and saw the fullness of her cheeks, the more pronounced curves where her waist sloped to her hips.

She'd blossomed, and suddenly he was looking a woman, while he still felt like a lovestruck teenager.

Blue eyes blinked, finally rousing from her study. Her gaze lifted straight to his, having felt his attention, freezing when his presence registered. Then her slackened features lit into a beaming smile, the brightness of it stealing all of the lingering sun.

He tried to grin, only to find he already was, and his lips could spread no farther. In a surge of motion they both moved towards each other. Sam's books spilled onto the grass in her scramble to get to her feet, and Jack nearly tripped his way over the curb in his haste to get to her.

His bag hit the ground as his arms wrapped around her, sweeping her up before she could even take a step. Her laugh rang out in the crisp autumn air, enveloping him as warmly as the arms she circled around him.

"Oh, my god!" Her arms tightened around him, nearly crushing him. "Jack! What're you doing here?"

"Came to see you," he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head. Her hair was soft against his skin, tickling his jaw. "Missed you."

"I missed you too…" The words rumbled against his chest, sending shivers coursing from his ears on down to his toes. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I could have met you…"

"You did meet me," he teased. "And the surprise was worth the drive."

She hummed, almost a moan as she sank closer against him. A moment later, her head lifted, and she rose on her toes to peck a kiss to his lips. He captured the peck, his hand framing her cheek to deepen the kiss.

She grinned when they broke apart, which he returned with a tight squeeze. Looking over her shoulder, he saw the malingering males trickling away, with more than a few nasty looks sent his way. Satisfaction flared for an instant, but then it fell away as he put them from his mind.

"How long do you have?" she asked, almost shyly.

He grinned. "I have to be back on base Sunday night. 'Til then, I'm all yours."

They pulled apart, but his hand slid into hers, her palm soft and warm against his. "Good," she delivered firmly. All these months had been far too long. Now that he was here, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle such a long separation again. At the moment, he wasn't even sure he'd be able to tear himself away in time to make it back to base on Sunday.

They gathered her things, and she guided them out of the park. Her hand remained in his, and when they paused on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the light to change, she leaned against him. Her arm snaked around his waist, and his arm fell naturally around her shoulders.

"Those last few weeks were hard," she confessed. "I nearly went out of my mind, knowing you were starting school and I couldn't see you..." Her head resting against his shoulder. "I don't think I wanna do that again."

He responded by craning his head to kiss her brow. "Yeah. Let's not." It really had been too long. But things were definitely starting to look up.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Normally, I would have the first reviewer choose what day of the week I post on. But as of right now I'm not sure how long this fic will be, so I'm hesitant to get into anything too regular. For right now, I'm posting when I feel like it, as often as I like. :) All you guys will just have to deal. Hee hee!_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Jack sighed. Frustration curled in his gut, twisting and coiling like a snake. He pressed the plastic payphone handset tighter to his ear, shooting a furtive glance over his shoulder at the growing line of cadets behind him.

"Come on, Sam," he said, trying his damnedest not to sound like he was begging. "I haven't seen you in months."

The fact that they were so close was supposed to make it easier. But since his surprise visit to meet her on campus, it had only made it harder. She was so close, but he still barely got to see her. Visitor weekends were few, and liberty even more so. And in the rare instances he managed to get up there, she was mostly distracted, her thoughts pulled from him to focus on school, or her research, or her work with the foster kids.

"Jack, I know it's hard, but I've got midterms the next two weeks, and then I'll be going back to DC for that legislation symposium…" Even now, she sounded distracted. Like he'd pulled her away from something important. He always was.

"And the week after we're going out in the field for a three-week training exercise," he countered. He was busy too, but the difference between them lay in the fact he was still trying to make it happen. "We won't even be able to talk on the phone until I get back…"

"Look, I'm sorry, but…"

"Sam!"

A sharp exhalation of irritation seared its way across the line. "It's hard on me too, Jack! Okay? It sucks, but we knew this was going to be difficult. It'll get easier in a few years—"

"Years?" Jack's gut dropped, a heavy weight of separation settling over him. This was how it started. "Sam… is it worth waiting for a few years, if we lose the time in between?"

Silence answered him. Then, "I can't believe you're asking me to choose…"

The accusation came softly, darkened by bitterness. Her disappointment washed over him in a wave, and his hackles raised in protest. She needed to stop putting words in his mouth.

"What? No! Dammit, Sam, I'm not asking you to choose! I'm just—" A cough barked behind him. He shifted on his feet, aware of his audience's impatience. "I miss you."

"I—" Her voice cut off abruptly, and he heard the murmur of voices in the background. Sam's voice pulled away to answer them, before she returns to him. "I have to go, Jack…"

"Sam, please…"

"We'll talk later, Jack. I promise." Her voice was low, focused. Despite the dread building in his gut, he believed her. They would talk—but he may not like what was said. "I just… I have to think. I don't have time, right now, and we won't get anywhere today. I'll call you. Soon."

Jack sighed. "Okay…"

"Jack." He paused, already about to hang up. He leaned against the payphone, lingering despite the unspoken pressure for him to get off. "I promise," she swore.

He tried to smile, but only got halfway. "I know."

They both hung up, neither able to utter a proper goodbye. Jack turned to face the sympathetic visage of the cadet behind him. A hand clapped against his shoulder in solidarity, before the man sidled past him, intent on calling his own sweetheart.

There wasn't anything he could do at this point. He couldn't leave the base until liberty, and even then, showing up before she was ready would only make things worse. All he could do was wait.

It was in her hands now.

* * *

Ronica watched her charge from across the cabin. The plane was small, private but luxurious. It may as well have been the jump seat of a C130, though, for all Samantha Carter noticed. For the past eighteen months Ronica had watched the First Daughter throw herself into her studies, devote herself whole-heartedly to the pursuit of thus-far unattained knowledge.

Her commitment showed—Ronica knew for afact she had yet to earn anything lower than an A, and she was passionate for her work in the national community. But it was everything else that suffered. She lost weight; not enough to be a danger, but just enough for Ronica to know the stress was there. And the fewer, curter conversations Ronica managed to overhear between her and Jack O'Neill was the biggest clue of all.

She was spread too thin, and Ronica thought maybe Jack had succeeded in forcing Sam to realize it.

Now the young woman sat, hands folded in her lap, thoughts a million miles away. She was processing something, and Ronica could only hope she would come to realize what everyone else already had.

Something had to give, before Sam lost sight of what was truly important.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Okay, well, I'm posting a lot this week. Mostly because I want to, kind of because I can, and a little bit because I'm not going to have internet access next week. So while you'll be without updates, *I* will have pen and paper, which means that I will still be writing while I'm basking on the beach. :)_

_As always, enjoy!_

* * *

Jacob Carter held his children to high standards. He always had, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. It was a point of pride for him, that he didn't melt into a pile of mush the minute his kid copped an attitude. It kept his home ordered. It kept his family crisp and efficient. It kept his life comforting. Familiar.

Mark hadn't been able to live up to the pressure—he'd cut and run off to god knew where long ago. But Sam… Sam. Oh, but his little Sammie had met his expectations, and then blown them out of the water. She was smart, even brilliant, and had the heart of her mother. She was always giving, always making the right decision.

All of which culminated in the mule kick to the gut that came with the words trailing from his daughter's mouth.

"You want to what?"

A stubborn chin—both delicate and strong, like her mother's—lifted as her blue eyes met his in an arresting gaze.

"I'm stepping down as First Lady." The soft voice she'd uttered first had fallen away to expose the hard-edged antagonism that he'd always expected from Mark—not from Sammie.

Jacob blinked. He'd been briefing her on his re-election campaign when she'd cut in, delivering her news with the speed of someone who knew how it would be received. Of someone with something to be guilty of. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No, Dad," she returned. Her voice gentled slightly. "I'm not kidding. It's too much. I've taken on a lot of credits this year, and I don't have time keep coming back and forth. Besides, it's not fair to anyone involved for the office to have an absent chairperson. Allison will be able to keep things going without me."

Jacob stood sharply, his features hardening. _Allison_ was an assistant. She maintained the status quo. It was Sam who pushed the boundaries, who made the change. _Allison_ wouldn't measure up.

He paced to the fireplace, glaring into its depths for a long moment before pivoting to face her. "This is about him, isn't it?"

She blinked. "Jack?" Her brow furrowed. "Dad, no… I mean, yes, I miss him, and yeah, I want to spend more time with him… But—"

"There are no buts, Sam. You're doing this for him!"

"I'm doing this for me!" Growing fury sparked in her eyes, and once again Jacob was struck by how like her mother she looked. "I'm struggling with school, I barely have time to sleep… I'm trying to juggle too many things! I can't focus on anything like I should because I'm trying to focus on everything, and I can't do it. The Office deserves someone who can devote all their time to it. I can't—"

"They deserve _you_, Sam. You've done nothing but good since you started—"

"I can still do good, Dad! But I can do it locally, closer to campus, on a smaller scale."

"You can transfer to Georgetown. I can call the dean and have the paperwork rushed—"

"No! God, Dad, just stop it! I don't want to transfer! I like my school, and I like the work I'm doing there. I've got internships lined up that will open a lot of doors for me. I'm not going to throw all that away just so I can keep living your dream!"

Her voice hung in the ensuing silence. Jacob's thoughts were swamped with the overwhelming sense of failure, punctuated by the fire crackling away behind him, hungering to sear his tattered nerves. This was something Mark would pull, not Sam. Not his Sammie.

"I can't believe you're giving up your entire future for a boy," he uttered, his voice heavy. He met her gaze unwaveringly. "Your mother would be so disappointed."

Her eyes fell, resting on the fingers interlaced in her lap. For a split moment he thought he might've gotten through to her, but then she looked up, her eyes clear of guilt. Her shoulders lifted and fell in a calm exhalation. "You haven't heard a word I've said."

Jacob saw her throat work a moment before she rose to her feet. Her shoulders were straight, with a bearing that would put half the military to shame. Her gaze arrested him, meeting his as detached as though addressing a stranger.

"I'll call Allison and explain what's going on," she delivered coolly. "She's already up to speed, so the transition should be seamless."

She paused, giving him the chance to respond. He didn't. He had no words to give. In the end, neither did she.

She turned and left the room, her strides strong and steady. A sure twist of her wrist unlatched the lock, pulling the heavy door open, but she paused before she crossed the threshold. Blue eyes looked back at him. They were mournful, windows to a soul unlike any he'd seen in her.

"This is your future, Dad," Sam uttered softly. "I'm glad I was able to help it come true for you… but it was never mine."

The door clicked shut behind her, and Jacob was alone again. This time, there was a heavy sense of finality that told him he would be alone for a very long time.

* * *

Liberty weekend came without fanfare. There was excitement from some cadets, sure, but there were enough similarly stuck on base that it didn't sting as badly as it could have. The buzz of his cellphone vibrating against his leg made him start with surprise. He paused in his journey past the visitor's parking lot, fishing out his phone.

He'd been intent on reaching the barracks, his Friday night plans consisting of nothing more than sleep. Sleep appealed to him; he didn't want to think about another weekend without having heard from her.

He pulled out the vibrating phone, and when he glanced at the screen he fumbled to open it quickly. "Sam?"

"Hey."

He straightened at the sound of her voice, and he turned as he stopped, eyes reflexively scanning the parking lot. He froze when he saw a familiar figure standing with a phone to her ear. One hand lifted in hesitant greeting, unsure of his reaction.

His reaction was to shut his phone with a snap and double-time his way to her. He slowed as he approached though, suddenly wary. "Hey."

"I, uh… I was hoping you'd have some time to talk," she delivered. He tried not to notice how her voice wobbled, wracked with nerves. The toe of her sneaker ground into the asphalt beneath her. Jack tore his eyes away from the motion to meet her gaze.

He nodded. "Sure. Here?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh…okay."

Her hand reached out to take his, her touch warm. "I wanted to apologize." Jack blinked, surprised. "For the way I acted last week, on the phone. You didn't deserve that."

This time it was his turn to shrug. "You've been busy, I get it…"

"Yeah," she agreed softly. "I have been. I've been stressed and tired, and pulled in a thousand different directions… but that doesn't excuse what happened. I was being unfair."

In the end, he could only nod. It had stung, her accusation. "Did you get time to think?"

Her lips pressed into a thin-lipped smile. "Yeah," she returned hesitantly. She took a deep, fortifying breath. Jack waited. "I'm stepping down."

Jack couldn't help the wave of relief that pooled in the pit of his stomach. Regardless of what decision she made about them—which was still up in the air, until she told him otherwise—he knew that letting go of her First Lady duties could only be good for her. She hadn't been happy with her level of involvement for some time now, but had been unable to do anything more without backing down from something else.

She was an all or nothing kind of gal; she wasn't content to do anything halfway, and that was what got her into trouble. It must have been difficult to let it go—she loved her work, especially with the kids. But she had to let _something_ go, and this time, he wasn't sure taking a break from him would have helped.

"I told my father when I was in DC," she continued. He winced.

"He must not've been happy to hear that," he commented. Re-election was coming up next year, after all.

A wry smile twisted her lips. "You could say that." The fact she didn't elaborate said more than it didn't.

He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." To his ears, she sounded honest, and content with the decision. "It's true that I was doing a lot of good, but… there's a lot of good that can be done here, too. I don't need to be unofficial First Lady to do it."

He nodded. If she was happy, then he was too. But still, it didn't tell him anything about—

Her arms snaked around him, her body pulling flush against his. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

His own arms instinctively lifted to return the embrace, his cheek pressing against her head. The scent of her shampoo wafted up to him, easing the knot of tension in his gut. "It's okay…"

"I got here, and I realized, after what I said… you might not want to see me," she whispered, her voice straining against the tears threatening to fall. "I… It scared me."

Jack felt a smile pull at his lips. So he wasn't the only one tied up in knots. It was reassuring in a way.

"You couldn't get rid of me that easy," he reassured her. She pulled back slightly to look up at him, offering a watery smile. "You're stuck with me, for now." _For ever._

She nodded, her shoulders lifting in a sigh of acceptance. They were okay. "You hungry?" he asked.

"Starved," she confessed.

He grinned. "Let's go get something to eat. Think Ronnie would mind giving us a lift?"

He'd seen the agent behind the wheel of the car, and her plain-clothes partner a discrete distance away. The man was less stocky than Geordie had been, certainly less of a presence, but perhaps that was for the better. The less like Geordie the new guy looked, the better for Sam, who still felt the loss of protector.

"What're you thinking?" she queried. "Thai?"

"Found a good steak place with the guys a few weeks back…"

"Oooh," she cooed, turning to wrap an arm around him as they walked the short distance to the car. "With a baked potato… Do they have good desserts?"

"Best pie I've found in town so far." He glanced at her, and found her smile positively wicked. His brows lifted as he nodded. "It's _that_ good."

She grinned. "I'm in."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I'm baaaaaack! [insert creepy Poltergeist music] So, vacation is over, and I'm about 75 percent done with this fic. It's astounding. I love where this is going. The next few updates will be me posting the stuff I already have typed up, while in the meantime I'll work on getting my handwritten material onto my hard drive._

_Enjoy this one to tide you over!  
_

* * *

"So! You've graduated. _Again._"

Jack reclined in the booth of the diner they'd taken over for the afternoon, sated on a full meal of burgers and fries. Sam had changed out of her robes, but her cheeks still held the rosy pride of a new graduate. Somehow, though, receiving her undergrad degree didn't really seem all that different from her high school diploma. Been there, done that. "Now what?"

She shrugged, reaching over to snag one of his fries. "Denver's offered me a place in their graduate program. I figure I can start here, and re-evaluate as I go, if necessary."

She munched on the sliver of potato, calm as could be. As though she hadn't just suggested she would go wherever he went. A year ago, he might have been flattered. But it wasn't a year ago—it was this year and the past few months since the blowout with her father he'd seen her take on a blasé attitude about her future that made him worry.

He wouldn't complain to having Sam close—not hardly. But he knew her. As much as she seemed to want to cut loose and take off, she wouldn't be truly happy being a leaf in the wind. She needed roots, and she deserved to have them where they would be of most benefit to her, to her career. Traipsing along after him wouldn't cut it. Not in the long run.

"Would it be worth it?" he asked. He sucked up a mouthful of chocolate milkshake. Casually. "Starting here rather than somewhere like UCLA or Stanford?"

The sharp gaze she leveled at him was answer enough. His hands immediately lifted in surrender—not his choice, not his decision. He read her loud and clear. He wouldn't say anything. Yet.

He wisely changed the subject.

"It was good to see your dad again, though." _Crap._ So not the best topic to visit.

The President had appeared for the ceremony and a flurry of press shots and a brief interview conducted shoulder-to-shoulder with his daughter before he'd swept off again, taking his entourage with him. He had demonstrated, almost blatantly so, that he was interested more in what she meant for his campaign than what the ceremony meant for her.

It had stung, if Sam's darkened gaze was anything to go by. Jack shifted in his seat, his relaxed posture turning suddenly serious as he squared off across from her. "Look, Sam, it's not your fault…"

"I never said it was," she replied coolly. She snatched another fry, and occupied herself by dipping it in her milkshake. "It's his deal, not mine."

She had yet to share with him what was said the night she told her father she was stepping away from his office. All Jack knew was that it had ended on frosty terms and they'd rarely spoken since, and never in a personal capacity.

He'd respected her privacy thus far, but to hear her so bitter… maybe it was time he dared to overstep his bounds.

"Sam…" Jack took her hand, pulling her focus to him. "What happened?"

Blue eyes met his for a moment, then slid away. Her hand slipped from his grip, tucking itself into her lap below the table. "He said…" She tucked her hair behind her ear, agitatedly sweeping it from her face. Her fingers trembled. "He said my mom would have been disappointed in me."

Angry tension coiled in his gut. Of course Jacob Carter would've gone straight for the jugular. He'd been a Colonel once—a shot like that, it was a precision strike, plain and simple.

"You don't believe that… do you?"

"No," she answered, her response sure and swift. "But it doesn't matter. It still hurt, and the worst thing about it is that he wanted it to."

Her gaze fell to her plate, her fingers trailing around its rim. She spun it slowly, and its metered pacing told Jack she was using it to keep calm. Hell, she might even be counting turns.

"After everything I've already given him," she continued, "he couldn't just listen to me! And…" Her voice quivered, her eyes blinking away a sudden dampness. "And then—it's the first time he's mentioned her at all since the accident, and it's to tell me she'd be _disappointed_."

_Son of a…_ The lousy, no-good… "Sam—"

"He didn't even have the guts to tell me that _he_ was the one disappointed. I could have respected that," she bit out, the hurt falling away to expose a seething, churning anger. "At least then it would have been honest."

She turned a stormy gaze to her dessert, scraping her straw through the chocolate slush. Her cheeks were flushed, her jaw tight against growing umbrage.

Jack sat silently, unsure of what to say. In the end, he didn't have to say anything. She gathered herself together after a moment, and lifted her chin once more. "I'm starting off at Denver," she delivered finally. "Where I end up is my decision."

Jack could only smile. "All right." He leaned back. "Sounds good."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Here's another little snapshot of our favorite duo. Don't worry, for those of you who prefer the more fluid approach- while I keep the snapshot theme throughout the fic, it does get more streamlined as we proceed, I promise._

* * *

Jack sat on the couch with a whoof of air. A long day ending perfectly—two ice cold beverages in his hands, Sam's long legs stretching across his lap… Utter contentment. That was what he felt, in a moment that couldn't have been better if he was dreaming.

Sam's apartment was everything her room in the White House hadn't been. There were pictures all over the walls, not only of the two of them but of her and Ronica, her and her friends on campus. And a few, ragged in their frames, were of her family, when it had been whole. Image upon image of happy, smiling Sam, a testament to the happiness she'd found here against the predictions of her father.

He handed her a bottle, the glass slick with condensation. "Get it while it's cold," he quipped.

One blonde brow arched. When he grinned, Sam rolled her eyes. "You're a dork."

"Yeah, but you love me."

Sam retracted her legs, swiveling on her cushion to cuddle up against his side. He looped an arm around her shoulder. "Yup."

Jack eyed her, saw her fingers worrying the label of her drink. "You nervous?"

"What?" She perked up immediately, straightening against him. "No, of course not. Why would I be nervous?"

"Well, it _is_ your first time…"

"So?"

Jack smirked. _The lady doth protest too much_. "So… are we gonna do this?"

Blue eyes narrowed icily. With swift deliberation she shoved the rim of the bottle to her lips and took a long swig. A loooooong swig.

A moment later she was coughing it up, the bitter taste of hops and ethanol surprising her to the point of triggering a gag reflex. Her hands tried to catch the spill, but good thing Jack was there, waiting with a handful of napkins.

She muttered a bitter thank you, but her eyes shot daggers at him over his dabbing hands. He bit back a grin. "Hey, I told you to take it slow—"

"No, you were egging me on! Might as well have been chanting _chug chug chug!_" She poked him viciously in the side, making him yelp. "Fink."

"All right, all right…" he surrendered. She gave him one last moment of the stink eye, before she settled against him once more. "Don't worry, it'll grow on you."

Sam snorted. "Maybe." She considered the long-necked Heineken in her hand. "In the meantime though, I'll stick to Diet Coke." She exchanged her drink with his, snagging the silver can for herself. Jack didn't dare protest. She shuddered against him. "Blech."

"It's an acquired taste."

"Whatever."

A moment later, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Happy 21st birthday, Sam."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: And here's another little stepping stone. Enjoy!_

* * *

Blue eyes danced as they focused on Jack's lapel. Slender fingers worked deftly, punching the small metal pin through the starched material, and securing it with the brass clasp that had been provided. With a snap and beaming grin, the final gold bar joined its mate, confirming his promotion. It was official.

He was commissioned.

"I know I'm not supposed to kiss you when you're in uniform," she said softly, almost a hum. "But I can tell you right now that as soon as I get you somewhere less official I'm going to smooch you silly."

Only the training that had been drilled into him for the past four years kept him from scooping her up right then and there, audience be damned. But the media was there, and he now had to uphold the image of being both an officer and a gentleman.

Taking her right there on the stage would likely land him in the brig, and that alone was enough to make him answer with a grin. "You promise?"

"You bet your ass."

She stepped back, her palm trailing across his chest. It was discreet, but sent fire racing up his spine. Her devilish grin spoke volumes, confirming that she was having thoughts much like his. _Heh._ Just wait until she found out the rest of his news… It only got better.

The ceremony continued to its conclusion, and then they were released to their families, on ten days' leave before they were expected to report in to their next training command. Ten _long_ days that involved him, Sam, and a couple of fishing poles up in Minnesota.

They managed to remain proper until they reached the car. Jack opened the door for her, only to have her take him nearly off his feet with a wild lunge. Her arms strangled him gladly, pulling him down to plant a hungry kiss on his lips. He returned it vociferously, wrapping an arm around her waist. They paused only to breathe, sometime later, and a cough from Ronica encouraged them into the car.

"Where do you go next?" Sam asked, sliding along the leather seat. Jack climbed in after her, removing his cover as he shut the door behind him.

"Minnesota," he said. "Unless you've changed your mind."

"You, me, and nothing but trees and fish? Not a chance in hell I'm changing my mind." Her smile dazzled salaciously. "You know what I mean. You've got your assignment already, I can tell. You're practically oozing anticipation. Tell me! Did you get selected for the flight program?"

Jack tried to fight the grin curling his. Honest he did. But he failed. Miserably.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." God, he sounded so smug. Well, he should. He'd earned it.

Her gaze brightened, a beaming smile of her own pulling her mouth upward. "Oh, my god. Jack! That's awesome! I know you would be!"

"I start the first phase as soon as I report in." The excitement in her gaze was infectious, and once again he felt renewed pride in himself. It was tempered by the little voice in his thoughts that reminded him that he'd only told her half the truth. He _was _going to be learning to fly—he was. It just… wasn't going to be the only thing he learned.

He swallowed against the tightness that suddenly gripped his throat. "The instructors at the Academy put in some great recommendations for me… I was told they don't usually take officers straight out of training like this, but…"

"They must have seen your potential." Sam's words were fairly glowing, the sparkle in her eye reminded him that she'd been the one to see the potential first. Without her urging, without her confidence in him, he wouldn't have ever applied to the Academy. "They'd have been blind not to."

"I think it has more to do with you than me," he countered, pulling her closer. "Without you, I'd still be riding a tractor."

"Oh, please. You got here on your own. And they're lucky to have you," she murmured, worming her way closer, "or else they wouldn't have snapped you up so fast." She wound her arms around him as the car began to move. They were on their way, and Jack settled in for the ride. With Sam next to him, he knew he'd have no problem being comfortable.

* * *

Four hours later, the road was long and dark ahead of them, the car silent except for the quiet in and out of Sam's breath, slow and steady as she slept. His shoulder had been her pillow for the past hour and a half, and his arm had long since gone numb, but he didn't bother moving. He watched instead, taking in her gentle features.

She was so peaceful… angelic, almost. It made his small, white lie of omission burn viciously in his gut. Keeping secrets from her felt wrong, even though he realized the necessity. Banishing the unsettling guilt from his mind, he turned his attention to the dark shadows passing outside the window. He vaguely remembered the area from his childhood, and a nostalgic sense of happiness tried to overcome the ache in his chest.

The last time he'd been here, his dad had been with him—one of the rare times he was sober enough to be pleasant. Affectionate, even. He couldn't be sure if the rental house was the same one they'd used then, but it was in the same part of the town. And this time, Sam would be there with him.

Amidst his thoughts he felt the car pull to a stop, and then Ronica's head poked around the front seat. She smirked when she saw Sam, but conceded the task of waking her to Jack when he waved her off.

"Hey, Sam," Jack said softly. She didn't respond. He lifted his shoulder in a gentle shrug, jostling her head. She moaned. "Sam, come on, we're here."

Her eyes fluttered open, threatening to slam closed several times before she managed to fully rouse herself. "Hmmm?" she yawned, stretching slightly.

"We're here."

Sam blinked. "Already?"

Jack swallowed a chuckle. The eight hour drive hardly earned an 'already'. But then, time flies when you're catching Z's. "Yeah. Already. Ronica was a speed demon."

A snort from the front seat answered him. Sam straightened more fully, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to peer out at the dark forest around them. When she failed to see anything, she reached over him to open the door, shooing Jack outside. "Well, get out," she directed. "I wanna see what we're dealing with."

"All right, all right, I'm going!" Jack grinned, gladly obliging her. When she stepped out behind him, they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at the shadowy cabin. It was log-walled and silent, with no signs of life, waiting for them to come and open its doors, light its windows. From their vantage point Jack could just barely glimpse the clean lines of a wooden dock, and the shine of the promised pond. It was peaceful, solitary, and beautiful, at once providing both creature comforts and nature's gifts at their fingertips. In a word—perfect.

"Huh," Sam delivered, voice flat. "Maybe it'll be more impressive when it's light out."

Jack chuckled. Hard to impress her when she was still mostly asleep. "Yeah, maybe." He slung an arm around her waist guiding her towards the house. "Let's go and get you some more sleep, huh?"

She leaned against him. "Yeah… sleep sounds good."

With a squeeze of his arm, he escorted up to the front door, then courteously opened it to allow her inside. He followed her in, a strange sensation creeping into his gut as they began to bring life to the house. Lights turned on, shades lifted to wait for the morning sun. As they moved upstairs and turned down the sheets, Jack couldn't help but feel that they were on a precipice. Like one more step would send him, send _them_ plunging over the edge.

But the edge of what? He didn't know, but he wasn't afraid. Because while the bottom was somewhere out of sight deep below, he knew it could only be great if Sam was there, jumping off the ledge right along with him.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Here's a short little one that will be coming with a companion. The companion will be up either this morning or later this evening._

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

"Come on, Jack, pick up…" Sam paced her small apartment's kitchen, phone to her ear. "Pick up!"

"_You've reached my cell phone. I sure hope I'm who you meant to call, because otherwise you're leaving a message for no reason." _

The phone beeped, and Sam sighed. "Hey, Jack, it's me. Call me back as soon as you get a chance, okay?"

Snapping her phone shut, she set it down with on the counter, bracing herself against the edge with both hands. She was frustrated. And sad. But mostly frustrated. Part of her resented Jack. He'd slid himself into her life with the greatest of ease, and had become the person she called whenever she had news.

But now, with the most exciting news of her career to date, he was out of touch, for God knew how long. When she'd come home from the lab, she'd been fit to burst with excitement, her eagerness to share it with him. It was a joy that was slowly leeching from her, eclipsed by the acute reminder that she was alone.

She missed him. More than she could have thought possible. The two hours between them during his time at the Academy had prepared her for this, she'd thought. But it hadn't. She had no idea what he was doing, if his long periods between phone calls were because he was training, or because he'd become one of those "training accident" statistics. She would continue to not know until she heard the phone call in some wee hour of the morning, and hear his voice on the other end.

It was torture. She could barely stand it. Had this been what Jack felt like, those days she missed his calls because she'd gotten wrapped up in a project? Or all those times back in DC when she'd been decidedly less time efficient with managing school and her personal life than she was now. Now, so many years later, it was easy for Sam to see how she'd abused Jack's time, and she resented herself for it.

But Jack had never blamed her for it, and she wouldn't blame him now. That didn't keep the knot of fear from twisting her insides into a pretzel, though. She suspected nothing would, until he either came home, or their contact became more regular.

In the meantime, she would wrangle her excitement, hold onto it until he could share it with her. She would ignore the shadow of doubt that whispered icy words of death and injury in her mind, shove it so deep within herself that Jack would never know of it. And above all she would wait. Wait for the next phone call, wait for him to come home.

It was all she could do.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: And here's the companion. Luckily, they're both short, or else it'd have taken me much longer to get the ready for posting. :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Hey, Sam, sorry I missed your call…" Jack apologized every time, even though both of them knew it was beyond his control. "What's up?"

He leaned a tired head against the wall behind him, letting Sam's voice wash over him like a salve. "I'm giving a class in two weeks," she said, her words rapid with excitement.

"Oh. That's great." She'd started giving classes her second year of college, before she'd even fully earned her Bachelor's. She'd filled in for more than one professor when necessary, and had her own tutoring groups of younger classmates. Her message had sounded urgent—as in, news-that-was-actually-new urgent. "Does it count as credit?"

She giggled over the line, her voice bright. "No, Jack. It's not for school. The American Astronomical Society has invited me to deliver a lecture on my work in the field of wormhole theory." Oh, yeah. He remembered her mentioning that path of study. She intended to make it the subject of her doctoral thesis. "It means a lot of recognition for my work, and it'd be discussed by some of the greatest minds in the field."

Jack perked up, brows raising. "Really?"

"Really. It's a big honor, and… well, I'm the youngest they've ever invited," she said, suddenly shy.

An honest grin split his features, and he leaned forward in his seat. "Sam, that's great!"

"Thanks!" she returned warmly. "I'm really excited. Past speakers have all been prominent figures in astrophysics, and they've gotten great positions at NASA and the Smithsonian, even The Space Telescope Science Institute. It'll be a great chance to network, and see what's out there."

Jack blinked. She'd been thinking about what she wanted to do, lately, and where she wanted to do it. She'd either follow him, or strike out on her own path. "Do you have any idea yet?"

Sam hesitated. "Kind of," she hedged. "But I do know…" She took a deep breath. "I can't follow you, Jack. Not yet."

He'd known it was coming, hoped for it even, because it meant she was putting herself first, and that was what he wanted. But he couldn't deny that the distance took its toll on him. He missed her, sometimes to the point of distraction.

"There's no point, when you're training all the time, and in a few months you'll be moving to another command. When you know you'll definitely be settled at a base for a while, then I can join you, but right now… I'd be giving up too much only to end up sitting at home while you're away."

He could hear the apology in her voice, and he scrambled to reassure her. "No, Sam. It's fine. You're right, you know you are. Don't apologize for making the right choice."

"I miss you…" Her words were soft, so tender it brought tears to his eyes. "But I'd miss you even more if I didn't have work to take my mind off it."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "I understand."

He knew the feeling well. His instructors lauded the energy he put into his training, not knowing that it was the only way he didn't lose it completely from missing her so much. If not for the all-consuming exhaustion he earned by the end of each day, he'd have packed a bag and headed home long ago.

"Do you know when you'll be able to come back to Colorado again?"

"Maybe when this phase is done. But it's probably more likely that we'll move straight into the next phase without a break. They're really churning through us here. I think they're desperate for pilots."

She hesitated. "Thanksgiving is coming up…" she suggested quietly. "It's a national holiday—"

"I'll try, Sam." _God, he'll try._ "I promise."

He heard a shaky breath pull across the line. "Okay."

Jack wiped a hand across his eyes, fighting the burn of tears. He was tired. Tired of body, tired of mind. And his heart hurt.

_This sucked._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Here we go. Something a little bit longer! And it's a little bit happier. Just watch! Or, rather, just read! :D_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Lieutenant Macy slid onto the locker room bench with the familiar slink of an officer up to no good.

"Hey, O'Neill," he delivered smoothly. Jack didn't bother to respond. Macy would keep talking regardless. "A couple of us are going into town tonight, to find a drink or two. You want in?"

Jack glanced at his fellow candidate, and immediately recognized the gleam in the officer's eye; that was all it took for Jack to decide. He wanted no part in some anonymous lay in a pay-by-the-hour motel room. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got something I gotta do tonight." A thrum of anticipation pulsed through his veins at the prospect.

"Oh, riiight," Macy sang, his tone mocking. "Your one phone call." A lascivious grin twisted his lips. "How's that working out for you?"

Jack focused on shoving his damp workout clothes into his mesh laundry bag. More than one of their platoon had received that fateful letter, conveying apologies of broken promises and hollow well-wishes. Most of them were bitter about romance, and several believed Jack was one or both of two things: whipped or courting disaster. He received endless flak for his dedication to keeping in touch, but he couldn't care less.

"You know, Macy, if you're interested in learning the birds and the bees, you could just ask."

The new voice belonged to the dark-haired lieutenant who appeared lounging against the row of lockers. Muscled arms crossed over a barreled chest, proud statements of how long the man spent in the gym. Charles Kawalsky cut an imposing figure, and Macy was not immune to the effect. The man's cheeks and neck flushed with a combination of anger and embarrassment, but he didn't immediately rise to the bait.

Kawalsky smirked. "There's no shame in admitting your virginity."

Macy glared at him, but rose to his feet anyway, taking to the hint to leave. "We'd invite you too, Kawalsky, but we know you don't swing that way…"

"Good call there. Paid sex really isn't my style. But you have fun!" Kawalsky fired back, complete with an exaggerated grin of good-for-you excitement. Macy shoved past him with one last heated glare, but left without saying anything more.

Jack nodded his thanks. "Kawalsky," he greeted.

"O'Neill." Kawalsky's features warmed into an easy expression. Heavy brows lifted in a lightened mood. "So, how's your old lady doing anyway?"

Charlie was the only one of their platoon who'd actually asked who it was Jack called home to, and thus was the only who knew the whole story. Well, most of the story. But that single question had opened the doors of friendship, making Kawalsky the one candidate Jack bothered to associate with on a personal level. The others were colleagues, comrades, but Kawalsky was fast becoming a friend.

"She's good," he returned warmly, a grin emerging unbidden. "Last we spoke, she was actually set to complete her doctoral thesis ahead of schedule."

Kawalsky blinked. "She does know that most people take almost a decade to get their doctorates, right?"

Jack smirked. Oh, she knew. Problem was, he was pretty sure she'd been thinking about that science stuff since birth, which meant she was already 21 years ahead of the curve. "Don't tell her that," he quipped, "or she'll get two doctorates at once just to prove she can."

A grin answered him, and Kawalsky eased himself down on the bench beside him. "You going to see her next month?" It was no secret that Jack had already put in the request for leave during the upcoming holiday.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. How about you? Got anyone at you're gonna go visit?"

"Nah." The response had the tight edge of false cheer. "I figured I'd stay here, take on some duty shifts on base."

Jack heard the truth behind his words. Kawalsky had no reason to return home, if there even was a home to go back to. Jack hitched his leg up onto the bench, reaching around his knee to lace up his boots. "You know, Sam's been wanting to meet you," he mentioned casually. "If you want, maybe you could come visit."

Kawalsky eyed him, and Jack knew he wasn't fooling anyone. But the man played it cool. "Is she a good cook?"

Jack swallowed a laugh. "No." Her effort to make pancakes the last morning he'd left had nearly ended with them calling out the fire department. "But she does a mean take-out order."

Kawalsky grinned. "Well, if she doesn't mind… I guess I could stop by."

* * *

The russet door of Sam's row house shone in the late afternoon sun. They'd decided to take a cab, since Sam's schedule that day had included a meeting with her thesis advisor. If Jack were honest, though, he preferred it this way, especially with Kawalsky in tow. Now Sam had some warning to their arrival, instead of being subject to the airlines' chaotic schedules.

"Wow," Kawalsky muttered. "You know, when you said college I was thinking fifth-floor walk-ups and Spaghetti-o's on a hot plate."

Jack nodded. Sam's place was a far cry from student loan-induced poverty. "One of the perks of getting a full ride and being smart enough to score some paid internships."

The result was that while the townhouse came Secret Service-certified safe, its rent and upkeep was financed under her own steam, without any sort of aid from her father. Sam was entirely independent and it showed in the way she held herself, the strength in her shoulders that grew as she came into her own. Even now, each time he came home she'd changed a little; a little bounce in her step, a gleam in her eye… The high school girl he'd first met had fallen away, leaving a woman in her place. A gorgeous woman with an open heart who made it no longer so foolish to want forever with her. Suddenly, thinking about marriage and kids and the future wasn't wistful, or even wishful thinking. It felt like the next logical step.

He didn't realize his features had split into an anticipatory grin until Kawalsky cleared his throat. "Why don't you…" he waved towards the door. "I'll grab the gear."

He moved away without waiting for an answer, giving Jack the opportunity to say hello to Sam without an audience. Jack took the stairs two at a time, his hand lifting to knock just as the door swung open to release an armful of beaming Sam, who slammed into him with enough force to almost bowl him back down the steps.

"Jack!" Her arms wound themselves around his neck. He wrapped his around her waist, pulling her closed. Her body was warm and solid against his, both soft and firm under his touch. She fit even better in his arms now, more than she had four years ago.

"I missed you," she whispered. She pulled back, kissing him lightly out of respect for his approaching friend.

He kissed her again. "Missed you more," he murmured back. His arm stayed around her waist as they turned to face Kawalsky, more a reluctance to lose contact with her than it was a show of possession. But that didn't keep a jolt of alertness from surging through him when he saw Kawalsky blink in appreciative shock when he got his first good look at Sam.

"Hi," Sam greeted, extending her hand. "You must be Lieutenant Kawalsky. Thank you so much for coming."

Kawalsky swallowed, taking the offered palm with robotic motion. "Yes, ma'am. But thank _you_, for the invitation." A beat passed, and then came the inevitable revelation. "You're Samantha Carter."

She might not be in the media spotlight as much as she used to be, but she was impossible to forget, especially now. A grin curled her lips in affirmation. "Just Sam to friends," she responded easily.

A bright smile erupted on Kawalsky's face. "Just Charlie," he returned. Jack's brow lifted. Kawalsky sure never smiled at _him_ that way. He ought to be offended.

Kawalsky caught sight of the arched brow and swallowed his grin with a cough. "Where would you like me to put these, ma'am?"

Sam pulled away from Jack, leading the way back inside the house. "I'll take Jack's" she replied readily, taking the heavy bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Jack grinned, because he knew both the bag and himself were going to stay the weekend in Sam's room. "Let me show you where the spare room is."

The two moved along, and Jack's head tilted in appreciation as Sam's hips sashayed ahead of him. _God…_ he really was the luckiest man alive.

* * *

One dinner of Thai later, and several hours of conversation after, Sam got up to put away the dishes and give Jack and Kawalsky a moment alone. They both watched her go, and then their gazes met. Jack didn't say anything.

All through the dinner, he'd noticed that Kawalsky's eyes were mostly fastened on Sam. He of all people understood there was a sort of shock factor with Sam, but after a while it had started to bug him. And of course, as soon as he noticed it, he couldn't notice anything else. Especially when Sam didn't call the guy out on it, which she usually had no qualms about doing. But he was not jealous. He wasn't.

Kawalsky shifted in his seat, as though suddenly uneasy. His gaze cast about the room, searching for a topic of conversation. However, as Jack expected, it came back around to the woman who had just left the room.

"Well, I know you said you had a blue-eyed blonde waiting for you…" Kawalsky's tone was lighter than was warranted. He clearly felt the tension was much as Jack did. "But _damn_, O'Neill…"

Jack let his lips curl upwards, but the levity didn't quite make it through. Kawalsky sighed.

"She's really something, Jack." Jack tried not blink. Mostly, they were O'Neill and Kawalsky. But it was in that moment that Jack fully comprehended that Kawalsky was now sitting in Sam's living room—_their _living room—sharing dinner and drinks like he'd known them both for years.

"She's stuck on you, man," Kawalsky continued, a jaunty grin on his face. "Now I know why you're never worried you'll get a letter."

Jack nodded, almost smiling himself. No dear-johns for him. Sometimes, though, the days when he was at his lowest, he wondered how he could ever hope to hold onto someone like her. His eyes fell to his beer, his fingers picking at the soggy paper label. He sighed.

"No problem?" he finally queried. His tone suggested that the question was intended to be taken lightly, but they both knew that Kawalsky's answer would make or break them.

Luckily the response came easy, and without hesitation. Kawalsky leaned back, an ankle coming up to rest comfortably atop his knee. "No problem."

Jack nodded in acceptance. Silence rested comfortably between them for a long moment, before the sound of dishes clinking together issued from the kitchen.

"You really going to make her do the dishes on her own?"

"Isn't that usually the guest's job?" Jack fired back good-naturedly.

His friend moved to rise. "Oh, well, if you insist—"

"Sit your ass down, Charlie," Jack growled, rising with a smile on his face. His friend's chuckles chased him into the kitchen where Sam was elbow deep in sudsy water. Jack set his beer aside, then slipped his arms around her waist from behind.

His lips brushed her ear, and her head turned to plant a kiss on him. He hummed deep in his throat, his hands toying with the hem of her shirt.

"Did you two get a chance to talk?" she asked softly.

Jack paused, but ultimately decided he wasn't all that surprised. "You're sneaky," he grumbled. He tickled her sides, making her squirm against him. "Should I be worried?"

"You tell me," she giggled, flicking soapy water at him in retaliation. But then she smirked, when he simply waited. "So, I might have noticed something. But he's a good guy. I like him."

Jack let his chin rest on her shoulder, the fun falling away to allow a gently quiet to steal over them. Being there, with her in his arms and the night so domestic—it was peaceful. It felt right. "You do, huh?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah," she sighed, leaning back into him. "I feel better knowing you've got someone watching your back."

Jack paused, stealing a sidelong glance at her pensive features. He knew the feeling well. It was something he often wished for her. "It'd make me feel better if you had someone, too."

"I have Ronica," she returned easily, making Jack sigh. Ronica was a good friend, yes, and trusted greatly. But she no longer went everywhere Sam did. With Sam's onset of adulthood, Ronica's presence in her daily life had been greatly reduced. Long trips and prominent settings remained in the agent's purview, but classes and Sam's home life were largely off limits.

"Sam, that's not what I'm talking about."

"I do have friends, you know," Sam assured him. "I go out for drinks with colleagues and I study with a group sometimes. I'm not a complete recluse, you know." She rested her head against the side of his jaw. "You just haven't met them because the few times I get to see you, I don't really want to share you."

Jack's ears heated with a blush. So he was the only one having difficulty sharing. "Ah." Then, suddenly, guilt flooded him. "Thanks for letting Kawalsky crash here, then. I'm sorry, I should've—"

Don't be sorry," she chided, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "You did the right thing. No one should be alone for the holidays. You can bring him home any time you want."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhmm." She smirked. "But just make sure you give me a heads up when you do." Her smile turned mischievous. "I'd hate to give you a _proper_ welcome," she said it with a purr that had Jack's skin tingling. "…in front of an audience."

Jack paused, letting his thoughts wander down the path of impropriety. He definitely liked the sound of that. In his arms, Sam turned back to the dishes, almost long enough for Jack to think the conversation was over.

"Do you really tell people you have a blue-eyed blonde at home?"

_D'oh._


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Okay, so I'm thinking I'm going to revert back to my once a week posting schedule. It seems to work out best that way. That's not to say there won't be extras thrown in here and there, but the weekly schedule provides me with a good structure. So, the first person to review this chapter will get to choose which day I post on. :D_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

That night found Jack reclining in bed, listening to the sounds of Sam getting ready for the night. He heard the faucet turn off, then the fan quiet, and then the bathroom door opened, revealing a shapely silhouette backlit by the vanity lights above the bathroom mirror.

A lump formed suddenly in his throat, his mouth dry as the light flipped off, plunging them both into a shadowy darkness that blinded him until the bed shifted beneath him, the mattress bending to Sam's hands and knees as she crawled towards him. She straddled his lap, and his roving hands found nothing but skin and a delicate lacy thing that was clearly meant to be taken off.

Heat rushed from his neck down to his toes, and her lips covered his in a hot, hungry kiss. He returned the kiss eagerly, but when her hands began to rove downward, his thoughts returned to him.

"Sam… Sam, Sam…" he murmured against her lips, his hands pushing just enough to interrupt her. She squirmed against his insistently. "Sam!"

"Mmm?" She kissed him again, nearly succeeding in distracting him.

"Sam," he tried again breathlessly. "Kawalsky… he's in the next room…"

Her lips grinned against his. "You want him to join in?" she asked mischievously, hips pressing against his as her back arched sensuously.

Jack almost choked. "What—no!"

"Then what's the problem?" she purred. God, he was beginning to forget what his problem was. She was intoxicating…

"Do you care if he…?" A kiss swallowed his concern.

"If he what? Hears us? Knows I'm going to ravish you?" Oh, god. Her voice was low, sending waves of desire coursing through him. "I'm pretty sure he's smart enough to have already figured out that was going to happen."

Her teeth nipped his lip, sensitizing it to the point her next kiss felt like fire. He moaned, his palm coming up to cup the lace of her bra. The material was delicate beneath his touch, and his fingers trailed its edge to fumble at the bra's hook. For a moment, he growled in frustration when he couldn't find it, but then felt Sam giggle when her hands reached up and snapped the clasp that was nestled between her breasts.

He kissed her madly—his comment to her that he liked those front-clasping things had been said half-jokingly in light conversation, but she had listened.

"I love you," he ground out, his body heating up under her expert ministrations.

She answered with a kiss that stole his breath away, and sent any other rational thought in his head running for the hills.

"I love you more," she murmured, her voice rumbling against his chest as she leaned down to trail kisses along his sternum. "Welcome home, Lieutenant."

* * *

Two days later, Jack joined Kawalsky in the backseat of the taxi that would take them back to the airport. Through the glass he saw Sam waving goodbye with a smile on her lips—a smile that couldn't quite hide her tear-bright eyes.

Silence sat between the two men as the cab pulled away, leaving the warmth of home behind. Once they hit the freeway, Kawalsky broke the silence.

"She's an amazing woman, Jack," he said. His dark head shook in good-natured disbelief. "You are one lucky son of a bitch."

Jack swallowed. He nodded. "Yeah." He faced forward, trying to get his headspace back where it needed to be. "You've got a standing invitation, by the way" he informed his friend. "You know, until you find your own girl to take your sorry ass in for the holidays."

A grin softened the gruff chiding, and Charlie chortled before silence gripped them once more.

"You know," Kawalsky said, voice low, "I don't if I could do what you do, O'Neill."

Jack blinked. "What the heck are you talking about, Kawalsky?" They all did the same exercises, took the same tests—some just did it better than others.

"If I had someone like her, I don't know if I could leave her, just to go put up with the crap those guys are dealing out." His eyes were serious. "I don't know if I could do what we're training for. It'd be too tempting to go home... and not come back."

Yeah. Jack couldn't say anything. How could he, when it took all his control to keep from telling the cabbie to turn around? When he knew that the image of Sam waving after them would haunt his dreams for months?

It was moments like these that he struggled to remember why he'd done this. Why he'd thought going off to war had been worth being away from her. Had he really believed she would think more of him for it? She thought he was a pilot; he didn't want to imagine her reaction if she ever found out the truth.

And for all his confidence, he couldn't help but wonder how many times she'll say goodbye, before she decided she didn't want to wait for him to come back.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: All righty, here is the next chapter. The new OFFICIAL update day is Wednesday EST, so here we go! I'll post late Tuesday, so that it'll be there for Wednesday reading. Makes sense to me. This chapter also sets the scene for the rest of the story. Let me know what you think!_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Sam looked out over the crowd, searching the sea of dark heads staring back at her. Most expressions were glazed over with multi-syllabic shock. She bit back a sigh. It was one of the risks in teaching these undergrad courses. It was hardly an introductory course, but even the upper-level courses were hit or miss these days.

"Go ahead and review chapters four and five for next week," she delivered finally, her voice carrying out across the lecture hall. "It wouldn't hurt to prep for a pop quiz, either."

Groans answered her, and she grinned. "Ah, see you are awake. Do you have any questions to go along with your whine?" Chuckles drifted up, but no hands. Oh, well… "All right, then, you know my office hours. Stop by if you need help." She switched the overhead projector off. "Class dismissed."

There was a flurry of motion as the lecture hall was vacated and Sam focused on putting her papers and materials into her bag. These classes were a far cry from delivering a paper to the American Astronomical Society, but they got the bills paid. And there was the added bonus of the rare class that was animated and lively, challenging her to answer insightful questions that reminded her that there were others out there like her, who thirsted for knowledge.

"_Doctor!"_

Sam jerked upright, banging her knee against the table leg as she whirled to face the shout that broke through her rumination. She blinked at the sight of a diminutive, grey-haired woman and a broad-shouldered man with Air Force stars glistening on his shoulders. His nameplate proclaimed his identity as West; she didn't recognize him.

"Doctor Carter, are you all right?" The woman asked, her hand lifting to her heart. Apparently Sam wasn't the only one startled.

"Yes, I'm sorry," Sam returned sheepishly, grinning as she ran a hand through her hair. "I'm still getting used to the whole doctor thing, I guess." Her successful dissertation defense had been completed only a week ago, and few people had come to address her as Dr. Carter yet. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Doctor Catherine Langford," the woman said, her features creasing into a warm smile. Sam felt her own features relax; the woman seemed kind. "I was hoping you'd be able to help us with a theory."

Sam zipped her bag shut. "Doctor Langford…" She rolled the name around in her head, but it didn't ring any bells. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your work."

"No, I don't suppose you would be." The woman almost sounded amused, though her features were nothing but kind. "I'm an anthropologist."

"Anthropologist?" Sam blinked in surprise. "Wow. Ummm… well, then, I'm not sure how much help I can be…"

Dr. Langford stepped forward. "You misunderstand me, Doctor Carter. I wanted to discuss one of your theories. You've raised some points I've found might be applicable to a project of mine."

Sam tried not to let her surprise show too much. "One of mine? I guess you did come to the right place, then." She eyed the empty lecture hall, then locked gazes with the elder doctor once more. "You want to do this here, or…?"

The General stepped forward, speaking for the first time. "We should adjourn to somewhere private, ma'am." The minute he spoke she knew that he had no misconceptions about who she was. It wasn't a surprise, considering his rank, but it set her on edge regardless.

Briefly she wondered if this was somehow related to her father, some convoluted attempt to re-open channels of communication. But she dismissed it just as quickly. Her father had less respect for studies like anthropology than he did for astrophysics.

She slung her bag over her shoulder, confidence burgeoning within her. Her theories, her knowledge—they had nothing to do with her father. These people were here for her expertise, not her connection to the Oval Office.

"My office is a few buildings over," she supplied. "It's small, but it's quiet. We'll have some privacy there."

Sam led the way, and as they walked Dr. Langford struck up an easy conversation, relating some of her own teaching experiences from over the years. Apparently, not much had changed over the decades. But Sam's desire to pick the woman's brain was cut short when they reached her office, and the door shut against the world outside.

Sam set her bag on her crowded desk, and waved towards the free chair that was intended for the odd student that sometimes stopped by. Doctor Langford sat, leaving the General stood at her shoulder. He settled into the parade rest unique to seemingly every high-ranking military officer. Crisp, and yet softened to the point that it told the world they'd long stopped caring what the rest of the world thought of them. If they wanted to slouch, they damn well would, but they had more pride than that. But even so, it was an imposing picture, standing head and shoulders above the seated women.

Sam examined her two guests, considering how to proceed. Either she could set the scene for this conversation, or the General would. Making her choice, Sam sat back in her chair, letting her focus narrow. Her eyebrow lifted, her features smoothing into an expectant gaze that betrayed nothing but her detached interest.

Warmth spread through her as she felt the atmosphere in the room shift in her favor. The power she had once used to further the agenda of the Office of the First Lady swelled within her once more, and she let it simmer, just below the surface. The charisma she wrangled in the political arena would serve her well even now, perhaps make her visitors think twice about trying any funny business they had in mind. If necessary, she could unleash it in attack, but for now she would simply use it to hold the focus of the room.

_Game on._

* * *

Catherine Langford watched Doctor Carter carefully. The shift in her demeanor was subtle, but no less profound. In the space of moments it had become clear that she was no longer just a friendly smile, or a brilliant mind; the eye with which the young woman regarded them might as well have belonged to a master tactician. Catherine bit back her frustration; she had intended for this conversation to remain just that—a conversation. But it seemed that it had turned into a battle of wills even before the first word could be spoken. She suspected she had the General to thank for that.

"Was there a theory in particular you have questions on?" Dr. Carter queried, her voice level. Slender hands folded in her lap, and delicate lips curled into an easy, but not entirely genuine smile. It was both difficult and easy to imagine this was the same face that had graced political magazines in past years alongside her father. It was a far cry from the visage of America's Sweetheart, but Catherine doubted the girl had survived so many years in politics without having built this ironclad persona in defense.

"You recently defended your dissertation," Dr. Langford responded, keeping her tone light and measured. Samantha Carter might be adept at navigating murky waters, but Catherine had more than just years under her belt. "In it, you postulated that wormholes can exist in the context of subspace."

And there it was. Catherine glimpsed the tell-tale spark of an academic in their element, the rush of passion that couldn't be hidden, not even by Dr. Carter's stony expression. But the young doctor kept silent, waiting for her two visitors to continue.

"Furthermore," Catherine continued, "you theorized that such wormholes may generated given a particular set of parameters."

Sam blinked. "Actually, that's not at all what I theorized."

Catherine bit back a grin that tried to surface. She stayed quiet, and Sam filled the silence, as Catherine hoped she would.

"What I actually said merely introduced the possibility of traversable wormholes in our spacetime and the very remote chance that we might be able to observe and quantify its effects."

General West tugged on his blouse. "What does that mean?"

Amusement pulled at the young woman's features, but somehow it was neither facetious nor condescending. She leaned forward, finally engaging herself in the conversation. "It means that as of yet, wormholes are purely theoretical. But there are pieces of physics that remain a mystery, facets that are dark because we, at our current level of understanding, can't make sense of them. Some physicists postulate hypothetical constructs, like wormholes, to try and make sense of it, but honestly, it's just educated guesswork."

"And you think it's possible to take the study past guesswork and make it quantifiable fact." Catherine grasped the concept, in a very loose, vague sort of way. Somehow, she imagined that Dr. Carter's mind had latched onto the idea so tightly it knew every nook and cranny of it. When Samantha nodded, she continued. "What would you do with that information, once you had it?"

The woman's features screwed up into an expression of both confusion and disregard. "Do with it?" she parroted, the pitch of her voice lifting. "Doctor Langford, I'm not sure what you think theoretical astrophysics actually is, but it's not something that necessarily precipitates physical tools that can suddenly service other disciplines. Eventually, it will, but more often than not, if a theory holds up, it only serves to influence other schools of thought."

Catherine nodded her understanding. Anthropology was not so different, in that way. But anthropologists also had the benefit of knowing their theories were framed by visible human behavior, by artifacts that could fit into the historical timeline like jigsaw pieces. What these astrophysicists did was search out the tiniest pieces of the universe and try to figure out how it worked, even though the pieces were sometimes too small for even the most powerful microscope to capture.

"Could traversable wormholes be used to transport humans?"

General West's question came as a surprise to both women, but Catherine looked back at Dr. Carter to see the spark of interest flare in the woman's blue gaze. Then Dr. Carter's lips curled into a grin.

"General, I don't think you understand. Wormholes… they're theoretical," she repeated. "Theoretically, they could transport matter—molecules, atoms, quarks—across our spacetime. _Traversable _wormholes simply indicates that it would a wormhole capable of facilitating bi-directional travel of said particles. It doesn't mean that it's _actually_ traversable by any form of life, human or otherwise. In fact, most astrophysicists believe that any wormhole would collapse too quickly for anything to cross from one end to another."

Catherine glanced at West, judging his reaction. When his eyes slid towards her, she looked away quickly so that Dr. Carter wouldn't perceive the shared knowledge between them. A moment later though, blue eyes narrowed at the both of them, and Dr. Carter leaned back in her chair, features hardening. They'd been found out.

* * *

Sam sat back, forcibly curbing her growing enthusiasm. She'd kept a relatively firm handle on it thus far, or so she'd thought. Wormhole theory always had the strongest chance of sweeping her away into the depths of its possibilities, and despite her efforts to remain focused on her audience, it seemed they'd managed to sneak under her radar anyway.

The way Dr. Langford had glanced at the General, Sam knew she'd revealed something to them—she just wasn't sure what.

"You know," she said smoothly. "I'd be of more help if you tell me exactly what it is you're trying to prove."

It was a gamble to call out their hidden agenda. Sam knew it. But Langford had dropped hidden nuggets of hints in her questions, subtly prodding the discussion in a particular direction. And whatever test had been put in front of her, the fleeting glance between Doctor and General told Sam she'd passed.

"I'm afraid that's not something we can discuss at this time," General West declared staunchly. His eyes glittered coldly in the fluorescent lights of Sam's office. Sam stared right back, meeting the strength of his gaze ounce for ounce.

"So your purpose here today was to… what?" Sam let the accusation hang, offended enough to let it show. She'd been played, plain and simple. Why such a mismatched pair would want to pull one over on her, she had no idea, but it didn't matter. They weren't appropriating her time for something worthwhile—they were wasting it, maybe even trying to get at her work for some purpose of their own. It wouldn't be the first time a scientist had lost rights to their work. She didn't like being played.

"We were judging your potential to contribute to an ongoing project sponsored by the United States Air Force."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Great," she returned dryly, the word nearly caustic. "And what exactly is it that I've just been headhunted for?"

"A classified project sponsored by the United States Air Force." General West was unyielding. A brown folder embossed with the Air Force emblem slapped sharply against the flat of her desk as it landed in front of her.

Glancing at him to judge his expression—blank—Sam opened it, then glared at the top sheet as though it was screaming obscenities at her. "A non-disclosure agreement?"

"It's highly sensitive material, ma'am."

"I'm sure," she returned coldly. "Does my father know of this project?" All pretense was falling away. The cards were on the table, and Dr. Langford seemed surprised by the sudden edge in her voice. West didn't even blink.

"Yes, ma'am, he does. We wouldn't be allowed to operate otherwise."

Sam met his gaze frostily. "Does he know you've approached me?"

"He will be informed of your addition to our team," Doctor Langford cut in. "But he has no influence in us being here today; it is your decision as to whether you join us."

Sam considered that. It almost took the edge off her temper, and she wanted to let it go; she liked Doctor Langford. But she didn't like having the wool pulled over her eyes, and she resented that she'd been so easily sucked into the conversation. More, she didn't approve of government censorship of scientific advancement. It strangled innovation, and a gag order could kill her career.

She'd successfully divorced herself from her father's administration—her current influence was in legacy only, a strategy for child welfare that trickled down from what she'd put in place years ago. She had no desire to put her career, her work, or her_self_ back in her father's line of fire. She hadn't spoken to him personally since he'd condemned her choice to remain in Denver and leave his campaign. There'd been a few press conferences that they'd shared, enough appearances to dispel rumors of fallout and secure her father a second term, but nothing more. Nothing anywhere close to reconciliation.

Jacob Carter had barely spared her a glance once they'd stepped out of the spotlight, and the brush off still burned.

Sam shifted in her seat, pulling away from the folder in a visible shut down of the conversation. "I'm not signing anything today," she declared forcefully. "I will contact you regarding my decision."

"How long—"

"As long as it takes," Sam cut off General West sharply. She didn't miss Dr. Langford's amused smile as the General's features soured, breaking his ironclad bearing for the first time. She wasn't about to be bullied into taking a job. She had the luxury of knowing she didn't have to accept for the sake of needing a job. She had tenure pending at the university, and NASA was courting her for their next Rover mission. Wormhole theory was her pet project, but applied astrophysics was quickly becoming her bread and butter. She could afford to take her time in choosing.

The General accepted her declaration with a sharp rap of his heels, snapping to attention in an informal, resentful salute. "Ma'am."

Sam nodded, but didn't rise until the General was finding his own way out of the office, and Dr. Langford approached her.

"Doctor Carter…" The woman's voice was kind, a tone of friendship and understanding. "I understand your hesitation in this…"

Sam said nothing.

"But I see something familiar in you… something I still see when I look in the mirror some mornings. You're wasted in that lecture hall, Doctor. Teaching has it's time and place, but for you, right now—You need this."

The room was burdened with heavy silence, as Sam refused to rise to the bait. As much as Dr. Langford seemed to understand Sam as an intellectual, she was overly presumptuous. She didn't _need_ anything the government had to offer.

But Dr. Langford was far from intimidated. Instead, her eyes only crinkled with hidden knowledge, and the confidence of a surety she wouldn't yet explain. "Trust me, Dr. Carter. You sign those papers, it'll be the best decision you ever make."

"You sound very sure of that."

"I am. And I am equally sure that if you don't sign them, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what it was we were hiding behind the curtain."

Her gaze fell pointedly to the open folder, and the unassuming papers within. Neither said anything for a long moment, before Dr. Langford moved to take her leave.

"My phone number is included in the file," she said. "Please call me when you've made your decision—day or night."

Sam nodded, taking the woman's handshake. The touch of the woman's age-softened skin stole through Sam's resolve to be angry, and she felt a small, but honest smile curl her lips as they shook their farewell. "Thank you, Dr. Langford."

Her grey head bobbed in a nod. "Thank _you_, Dr. Carter."


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: I told you there'd probably be more often updates than just the weekly! Here's an example! :D_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Sam sat. She sat and stared, the offending brown folder splayed open in front of her, glaring back spitefully. She didn't want to sign it. She didn't. But Dr. Langford's words haunted her, echoing in her ears every time she made up her mind to toss the agreement in the trash.

Dammit, she was curious. She was curious to know why the government needed her of all people in an academic, scientific capacity. Curious to know what the hell they had that would need wormhole theory as a vital aspect of their project.

She knew that if she did sign the papers she'd be putting herself squarely under the thumb of the federal government, and the whims of the politicians who comprised its upper echelons—including her father. She'd be undoing the last four years of her life, destroying the independence she'd fought for, lost her father for. Was whatever they were offering worth the loss of all that?

She stood, her chair scraping noisily across the kitchen floor. _Dammit_. And what if she didn't sign? What if she told this Doctor Langford and General West where to shove their nondisclosure agreement, and went about their life? What then?

She'd be successful still, more likely than not. She'd climb the ranks at NASA, earned her tenure somewhere, be well-renowned in her field—hell, she could earn the Nobel Peace Prize. But she would always think back to this moment, this single instant in time that she turned away from the prospect of hidden knowledge.

She would look back at this moment, all her potential success aside, and always wonder if she couldn't done something even more amazing. More incredible. More lasting.

Could she live with this avenue unexplored?

For all her agonizing internal debate, she already knew the answer. Why else would she have plucked the folder from the trash bin twice already? Enough hesitation. Enough fear. It was time to put up or shut up.

Her lips firmed into a hard line, and with grim determination she sat in front of the folder. She picked up the pen. With a click and a flourish, it was done. Her freshly inked signature sat defiantly on the dotted line.

She blinked. In a daze, she picked up the phone, and it was then she noticed the time- 3am. She didn't care.

"Doctor Langford?" she greeted when the other end picked up. "This is Doctor Carter. It's done. What's next?"

* * *

As soon as Sam told Doctor Langford her decision, she'd had a matter of hours to pack a bag and meet the car that had been sent for her. The tinted windows of the imposing SUV had disquieted her, despite the fact she'd practically grown up in them. And when she'd slid in to share the back seat with Doctor Langford, the sound of the door slamming reverberated in her very bones.

She felt a familiar, unwelcome panic creep up on her—cars had unsettled her in an unspoken, intrinsic way ever since the accident that had stolen her mother from her. In recent years, it had been compounded by the unease that seemed to follow her into every enclosed space she ventured into. A dark, slithering voice whispered that it had something, _everything,_ to do with Geordie's death, and the building that had fallen on them, though she had yet to recover her memories of the incident.

She childishly wished that Ronica was there on the seat next to her. But she wasn't. A belated stipulation of the non-disclosure agreement had been that she would have to finally, at long last, completely disavow herself of her personal protection. They could not be read in on the project, and therefore could not accompany her or continue to ensure her safety.

At the time, it had been an easy choice. However, now that she was headed to parts unknown with two strangers, she felt a pang of regret deep in her gut, and the harrowing sensation of a decision made in poor judgement.

As though sensing her discomfort, Doctor Langford gently reached over, handing her a thick manila folder, ornamented by half a dozen binder and paperclips in an effort to keep the unruly contents in some semblance of order.

"Dr. Carter," General West issued, drawing her attention to him, "you are about to be officially read into what has been codenamed Project Giza. Anything that is said within the confines this car, and any discussion related to details therein, shall remain confidential. The project is rated above Top Secret; that means—"

"I am familiar with the concept of confidentiality, thank you, General." Sam didn't bother to hide her contempt. The General was unnecessarily overbearing, which Sam had no patience for. She flipped the folder open in her lap, and glanced briefly at the top page. It told her nothing, so she worked her way a few pages in. When she hit a crinkled, handwritten page, she paused.

Her eyes flickered to the upper right hand corner, then blinked in surprise. "1928?"

"That was the year my father first unearthed the artifact," Doctor Langford supplied. "That page is the first mention of it in his notes."

"Artifact… what artifact?" Sam quickly fanned through the rest of the folder, but no photographs availed themselves.

"Unfortunately, the sensitive nature of the project has disallowed us to include visual aids." Langford smiled apologetically. "But we do have a bit of a drive, so if you'd like to read a bit more, I'd be happy to answer any questions."

The offer was generous one, and Sam drank in the information like a sponge. Amazement warred with disbelief, tinged with confusion. It was a tall tale. It had to be. The folder may have chronologically begun in the '30s, but the artifact itself was much, much older—if the carbon-14 dating was to be believed. The project had been put on a backburner for some time, but due to Dr. Langford's urging it was now back in full swing. Or at least, it had been until recently, when her team had hit a brick wall. Apparently, at some point four months ago, her team of archaeologists had determined that their artifact had a technological component they had no experience in.

That was where she came in. When Sam's questions began to yield nothing but magnanimous smiles from Dr. Langford, it became evident that she was asking all the right questions—it was her job to find the answers.

Eventually, the world outside the tinted windows brightened into something recognizable to Sam—the warm glow of lamps tacked to the face of a curved, concrete wall that took them out from beneath the moon's light. It was a tunnel, carrying them underground to what could only be NORAD.

She'd made the trip several times before, both with her father and with family friends who had indulged her love of science and computers. NORAD had been a source of wonder to her, still was in a way, but this time only deep breaths kept the pressure of panic at bay.

Underground… she could do this. Especially if it meant glimpsing this strange artifact that made Catherine's eyes light up like a child's at Christmas.

When the car pulled to a gentle stop, a pair of armed security officers met them as escort. Sam followed the navy berets into the facility, sandwiched in next to Doctor Langford with the General bringing up the rear. Sam expected to see their guides lead them towards the bright halls of NORAD, but was startled when they instead pulled a hard left.

A second set of elevators took Sam and her escort deeper into the mountain, and suddenly she felt a tingle of intrigue tiptoe up her spine. Despite her young age while she'd been at the White House, she'd known certain things she was sure most others didn't. But even she had no knowledge of a facility beneath an already Top Secret installation.

The doors slid open to reveal colorless grey walls and exposed piping—she recognized basic plumbing, but could just as easily visualize the electrical conduits that could possibly piggy back on the wiring, maybe even some fiberoptics as well.

A maze of equally featureless corridors beckoned them onwards, and Sam relied on her escorts to find the way through. They stopped only when they came up against the impassive steel of a lowered bulkhead—a blast door that suddenly had Sam rethinking her decision yet again. It was probably left over from a 70s missile silo, but at the moment it seemed more foreboding than anything else in world.

She swallowed, and glanced towards Doctor Langford.

"This has been a lot to take in," Dr. Langford said gently. The grandmother was back in her tone, warm and understanding. "I know you still have many questions, but at this point… At this point, _you_ are the best person to answer those questions."

Sam didn't respond. She'd expected as much. But with so many barriers between her and whatever these people had gone to so much effort to hide away, she wondered if she'd be able to do it. She wasn't even entirely certain what the artifact _was_. The reports in the file she'd managed to read on the too-short ride had been ambiguous at best, as though redacted by omission. Except that it was the entirety of the file. So many gaps… all of which it seemed she was expected to fill in.

"I still haven't accepted the job yet," Sam pointed out. She hadn't—she'd only agreed to keep secret whatever they deemed fit to read her in on. She hadn't agreed to join the project. The knot of anxiety in her gut was half excitement, half dread. Their secrecy felt ominous, but the shroud of mystery was nevertheless enticing.

Catherine only smiled, in that way she always seemed to—she knew something Sam didn't, and whatever that thing was, it made her clairvoyant. "Just wait until you see it."

As if on cue, the blast door slid open. It slid into the wall with a strenuous grinding of gears, inching aside in agonizing slowness. Sam acknowledged that the distortion of time was likely a result of her own anticipation—neither Doctor Langford nor General West seemed bothered by the sluggish barrier.

Finally, Sam gingerly stepped into the room beyond. It was grey, and featureless—smooth walled to the point of monotony. To her right, there was a window that glimpsed what seemed to be a lab; to her left, her eyes caught on a pale metal ramp. She glanced up its incline, and then felt her heart jolt in her chest.

The artifact was huge. It was dark and grand and imposing where it towered over their heads. She didn't notice her legs taking her forward up the ramp until she was reaching out to touch the smooth surface of the giant ring. Her fingers brushed it, hesitantly at first, but then firmly pressing her palm against its face.

Sam blinked in surprise. She turned to Catherine, who stood with the General at the foot of the ramp.

"It's warm," she observed, unable to hide her shock.

Catherine nodded. "We can't explain it. We've been able to determine that it can carry an electric current, but its temperature remains constant even when the current ceases."

"And it's unaffected by ambient room temperature?" Sam asked. Langford nodded, and Sam turned back to the stone ring. It _was_ stone. She could feel the crystalline grain, shaped and chiseled by some ancient hand. "Amazing…"

She looked closer at the carvings cut into the stone, and realized the shadows of the stark room had hidden a series of raised symbols paneled along its shape. She fingered the nearest one curiously, tracing its edges—it was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

"What—what does it do?"

Catherine smiled, _again_, and this time Sam shared her certainty. She was all in. There was no way she could walk away now. She felt the thrill of a problem to investigate, a puzzle to solve.

"That's something we hoped you would be able to tell us, Doctor Carter, in time."

Sam pulled in a deep breath, running her palm over the smooth planes of the stone again. Her head nodded, up and down, almost of their own volition. "Okay," she said softly, turning to face Catherine fully. "All right. Let's do this."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: And just because I'm awesome... Here's another chapter!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The office they'd set aside for Doctor Carter was cramped and impersonal. If Catherine were honest, it was little more than a room with a folding table and collapsible chair. But for all the young doctor seemed to mind, it might as well be the Oval Office. She'd taken the files and data they'd provided her and settled in to catch herself up.

The General had departed for his own office as soon as Doctor Carter had been handed the data. He would expect regular updates on any progress made, but his influence would be a distant one, as it had been thus far. Catherine was in charge of this project, and their newest team member would be her responsibility.

It was that knowledge that urged her to seek out the young doctor now. She remembered the wonder she'd seen in Doctor Carter's eyes, the thoughts churning. She'd seen the woman's mind racing, but could only guess where her thoughts were going. The girl was said to be brilliant, and Catherine was inclined to believe them.

Catherine slowed when she neared the temporary office; quietly poking her head in, she took in the scientist bent over the table. Her clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, her hair tousled from what could only be repeated comb-throughs from harried fingers. Said fingers were already stained by the red correction marker waving distractedly between her fingers.

To her eyes, Catherine could see that the younger woman likely hadn't left her seat since she'd started.

"Doctor Carter?" Catherine's tentative interruption went unheard. "Doctor Carter!"

Sam jerked upright, visibly startled. Blue eyes blinked owlishly, then softened upon recognizing Catherine. "Doctor Langford," she greeted, slender fingers tucking rumpled hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"That's all right dear," Catherine answered. She stepped in the room. "And please, call me Catherine." She smiled. "We are to be colleagues, after all."

Dr. Carter returned the smile with a warm one of her own. "Sam."

"Do you have any questions about anything so far, Sam?" It went without saying that Catherine inquired about questions that she would actually be able to answer. Odds were, most of the young doctor's questions would be beyond her comprehension.

Light brows lifted at the query, lips curling into a smile. "I don't even know where to start yet," she exhaled, eyes blinking with evident exhaustion. "There's so much information here, it'll take me weeks to get through it all, and that's even before I start examining the device itself… It's amazing."

A hand stroked through golden strands, shaking them loose from their flattened state. Catherine could see Sam's growing fatigue in the motion, and silently chided herself for not coming to check on her sooner. She'd spent her life in academia, after all, and knew better than anyone how sometimes the most brilliant got the most carried away.

"I can only imagine what it must've been like to stumble upon something like this back in the 30's," Sam continued. "I mean, we've only just searched the surface so far, and that's with the advent of computers and nanotechnology. To not have all that and yet be faced with a find like this…"

Catherine smiled. The enigma of the stone ring had confounded her father, consumed his life and his interest like nothing else. It was a hunger she herself had come to know in recent years, urging her to press the military into re-opening the project. They'd made huge strides since then, but Sam was right—they'd barely scratched the surface.

"We were hoping you'd have some fresh ideas to jump-start our progress," she said.

Samantha's brow lifted. "You must already have some pretty good ideas if you thought to pull me in. I mean, at first glance this is strictly an archaeological study—I'm a theoretical astrophysicist with an unhealthy interest in wormhole theory."

Catherine didn't bother trying to hide her grin. She was busted. "Your thoughts?"

"Well, I think—" Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a soft chime from Catherine's watch, marking the top of the hour. Blue eyes blinked, breaking through the haze of new discovery. "What time is it?"

Catherine glanced at the timepiece on her wrist. "2pm," she responded, already seeing her companion trying to do the math. "On Wednesday."

Dr. Carter's eyes widened. "Crap! I have to go—" She stood, moving towards the hall only to turn back. "Do I need an escort, or…?"

"You need to go topside?"

Sam nodded rapidly. "I'm sorry, I missed a phone call with…" Her voice trailed off, seemingly thinking better of trying to explain. "Look, if I don't call him back soon, I'll miss him completely. If that happens, we'll have to wait another month—"

Ah. Catherine felt realization pass over her. She'd been working with the military long enough to recognize the anxiety of a long awaited phone call. "I'll take you," Catherine said. "You'll need an escort until you're issued your own access cards—which should be within the next 24 hours."

"Thank you," Doctor Carter rushed. She already had her phone in hand. Catherine knew she wouldn't know if she'd missed a call until she made it back to the surface—reception was nil this deep in the mountain.

Their journey to the top was tense, the younger woman fairly vibrating with anticipation. Catherine watched her carefully. The blonde's attention seemed wholly on getting to the surface and contacting the man she was concerned about. Suddenly, it was as if the artifact and its many mysteries no longer existed. The shift in focus was abrupt and complete; whoever now held her attention must be very special indeed.

"Which branch?" Catherine asked softly, breaking the silence of the small elevator.

Dr. Carter blinked, surprised. Then a blush heated her cheeks, reminding Catherine that the girl was barely in her twenties. Catherine suddenly felt wistful: oh, young love.

"Ah… Air Force," Sam answered, smile growing. "He's a lieutenant."

Her pride in him, whoever _he_ was, was tangible. "How long has been gone?"

A sigh escaped. "He's not deployed yet—he started flight school a few months ago, and they don't get a chance to call home often…"

Catherine nodded. "He's lucky to have you."

She had no idea what compelled her to say it. She knew nothing about this young woman, beyond her academic and political reputation.

But Catherine suspected it was the way Sam's eyes lit up at the mention of this _he_, or the happy smile that accompanied the deepening blush along her neck and cheeks. Whoever held her affection did so completely, in the way youthful dreams only could.

A blonde head shook in contradiction as the elevator's doors slid open. "I'm the lucky one."

* * *

Jack sat, phone in hand. He'd left Sam a message._ A message_. For _Sam_. It felt wrong. Something must have happened. Was she safe? She'd never not answered before.

He fought the urge to call a third time. It wouldn't make him feel better to leave yet another message, and he figured she wouldn't appreciate receiving it. He didn't want to cling too tightly, and so far, Sam had made it easy for him. She was always available when he called, never out of contact. She'd spoiled him, and so now he just had to—

The phone blasted its ringtone, shattering his forced calm. He snatched it up, slamming it to his ear. "Sam?"

"Jack!" The tinny voice washed over him in a cool wave of relief. "I missed your call—"

"I was worried," Jack cut in, feeling his heart rate finally start to slow.

"I'm sorry," her voice came softly over the phone. Damn. He hadn't meant to make her feel guilty.

He forced his concern into a back corner of his mind. "Are you all right?" This time, his own voice was forcibly brighter, and she responded to it instantaneously.

"I'm fine, I just got caught up in a new project—Jack, it's like nothing I could have ever imagined. It's unbelievable!"

Jack couldn't help but smile. He hadn't heard this level of enthusiasm from her since she'd graduated high school. "What is it?"

"I—" she paused abruptly. "…can't tell you."

Jack blinked, his heart dropping out from under him. It was a day of firsts, it seemed. He tried to ignore the ache of hurt in his gut. He wasn't in any position to be offended, with what he was doing here. He'd been less than forthcoming about his training. But even so… it did. It hurt.

"Oh," he managed finally. "Okay."

"Jack, I'm sorry." And she was, he could hear it. The excitement was gone, replaced with regret. She'd never had to keep a secret from him before. She didn't sound any more comfortable with it than he was.

"Sam… you don't have to explain anything to me." God, did he really sound so bitter? He closed his eyes, as she hesitated in responding. "Is it important?"

"Yes." There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in her answer. "The most important thing I could ever work on."

He nodded, acceptance settling in his bones. "Then that's all I need to know. You know I'm happy as long as you are."

Her smile was nearly audible. "I know." A beat passed, and then conversation shifted back onto Jack. "How are you?"

"Tired," he responded. Understatement. But he had his own secrets to keep. "But I'm hanging in there. Kawalsky too."

She'd taken to asking after the other lieutenant during their phone calls. Somehow, Kawalsky had wormed his way into their family. Jack wasn't sure if Kawalsky even really noticed, though he knew Charlie considered Sam—and him—a good friend. They didn't talk about it much; they didn't need to. "We'll be graduating soon."

Why was he mentioning it? It's not like there'd be a ceremony for her to attend, and it was doubtful he'd get to see her before he got deployed. If things went to plan, they would each be short deployments, but even so… What was the point in bringing it up at all?

"That's great!" she chirped. "Have any more candidates dropped out?"

"Nah. We're pretty much holding steady. Looks like those of us still standing will be graduating." Which was a good thing. They were good men.

The conversation continued easy and benign. It lasted a few more minutes, until it flagged and they were content with knowing the other was doing all right.

"Jack, I—" Sam hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say. "Jack… I'm not going to get tenure."

"O-kay…" He felt a smile curl his lips. "Does this have anything to do with this new gig?" She hemmed an affirmative.

So Sam was no longer at the college. Not necessarily a concern, except that he knew it meant that whatever she was involved with, she was now less one line of defense. The college had a certain degree of accountability, and the some of the shadier organizations had a reputation for unseemly practices. He didn't like the idea of Sam getting caught up in that.

And if he was right, Ronica would be cut out completely from this new project. Sam would have no one to watch her back, with him being so far from home. The not-knowing curdled his stomach.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," he told her. "Don't let whatever you're doing blind your common sense. Keep your eyes open and don't let anyone take advantage of you."

She knew how to take care of herself—she'd spent too long at her father's side not to. But he knew that her fascination and excitement could consume her attention to the exclusion to all else. Falling victim to that now could have unforeseeable consequences that could follow her for the rest of her life.

"I won't ," she assured him. "I promise."

All right then. It was all he could do, from where he was. She'd been unwavering in her support of him and his military service; it was time he returned the favor. "And don't worry about the tenure," he added. "You'll have time to get it later, if you want it."

But she wouldn't ever need it. It would never be a vital part of her career. She could work anywhere in the world, if she wanted. Private sector or government, she would never be unwillingly unemployed. Of that, he was certain.

"Okay…" she affirmed. She paused, a sigh escaping her. "I have to go."

"Me too."

"I love you. I miss you." Her voice was smooth and warm, a sweet taste of comfort that soothed him. "Come home soon, okay?"

He smiled. "Okay."

_Soon._


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: It's a little early yet, but I need the distraction. My car was hit at one a.m. by a drunk driver last night (it was parked and I was asleep in my house. No injuries!) and I spent my day off getting it towed and procuring a rental. So not fun. _

_Now, you guys will either love this one or hate it. Feel free to let me know either way!  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Jack closed the front door silently behind him. The house was dark, as it should be after midnight, and he navigated the stairs with expert precision, despite the heaviness in his heart. His first mission had been a success, but it hardly felt like it.

He and Kawalsky had been attached to a seasoned team under the command of Major Frank Cromwell, and even by their standards it had been rough. The good news was that they had approved his and Kawalsky's permanent assignment to the team. The bad news—Jack wasn't sure he wanted it.

Easing the bedroom door open, images of rifle scopes flashed across his vision. For a harrowing moment, he was back _there_, creeping through a dusty compound and stumbling into surprised expressions. His weapon's muzzle flashed. In that instant, the memory was so strong he could feel the cloud of misted blood spray his skin.

Nausea gripped him, and he opened his eyes. He wasn't there. He was home. Fighting the lump in his throat, he stripped to his boxers and ever so carefully levered himself onto the bed. He slid up behind Sam, spooning against her. Without a second thought, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him.

Sam was warm, solid and real. She sighed at his touch, rousing just enough to murmur a sleepy "hey" as she settled closer against him. The scent of her made his tears spill over, silent and unnoticed by the woman he held.

His callused hands smoothed over the bare skin of her arms. She was freshly washed, the fragrance of her soap lingering in his nose. But her cleanliness only darkened his heart. He'd scrubbed and scrubbed, and his hands might reek of lemon freshness, but he knew the truth. They were stained, soaked in blood and drenched in death. He smeared the taint across her spotless skin with every touch, every caress. He dirtied her just by being here.

But he couldn't help it. He couldn't pull away, not even for her own sake. He clung to her like a drowning man reaching for a life raft. She was his rock, his anchor in the surging sea of chaos that threatened to swamp him. She was his light in the darkness, leading him home.

Sam had saved him once. When he was a bitter kid riding a tractor with a bum knee, she'd come into his life and given him direction like nothing else ever had before. At the time, he hadn't realized how much she'd saved him. But now, so many years, so many experiences later, he could see with perfect clarity that without her, he would have thrown the towel in long ago.

He could only hope she was up to saving him all over again, when all was said and done.

Sam leaned back against the kitchen counter, lifting a cup of coffee to her lips. Her eyes rested on the green seabag resting against the wall by the front door. After a week at home with her, Jack was on his way back to his command, back into danger. Her work on Project Giza had helped take her mind off her worry, but this past week had brought it back into sharp awareness.

She'd been glad for his surprise visit, at first. But then she'd seen the changes in him, the shadows he tried to hide from her. And then she'd realized why he'd been allowed home for so long. A reprieve. A taste of what he was fighting for.

The man of her thoughts stepped into her line of vision. Jack moved sedately, his usually broad motions tempered by a darkness that dulled his gaze and left him looking… listless. It didn't sit well on him; he'd always had an aim, a purpose. He always had a presence about him that told the world he was exactly where he wanted to be—wherever that was at any moment in time.

Now he approached her, almost wary. "Hey," he greeted.

Sam sat her coffee on the marble countertop behind her. "Hey."

His thumb brushed his nose, as if it could hide his anxiety from her. A brusque sniff traveled between them, further communicating his discomfort. "Ah… I, uh…. I need to talk to you about something."

She nodded. "Okay."

Long, slow strides brought him closer to her, his gaze solemn and fixed on hers. Warm hands cupped the curve of her shoulders, and as usual a tingle of thrill coursed through her, easing some of the tension that gripped her.

"We've had this… _thing_ going for a while now," he said. She nodded, knowing exactly why he had a problem putting a label on it.

She'd run into the same problem, trying to explain to Catherine exactly who it was she kept waiting for a call from. Somehow, 'boyfriend' could never find its way from her mouth. They weren't even dating—they hadn't been on a real date in close to a year. But the inadequacy of such labels came in the intensity of what she found in him. 'Boyfriend' sounded too temporary, and 'dating' too casual; she was committed, and _they_ were a done deal.

Jack took a deep breath, his fingers trailing along the back of her arm with a feather-light touch. "I want to make it permanent. You know… Official."

Heat crept up her neck, her heart suddenly pounding. "Jack…"

"I know, we haven't really talked about it, but it's something… " He swallowed. "Something I want." His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a tell-tale velvet box. "You and me, Sam, we're a done deal as far as I'm concerned. I want to marry you."

The hinged lid lifted, but before anything within could sparkle in the light of day, Sam's hand covered his. Jack's eyes widened at the pressure she put on his fingers, shutting the box with a snap that seemed to physically rock him. Brown eyes blinked, startled and shaken.

"I don't, Jack."

"You don't…" He blinked. "_What?_"

"I know you're more than just a pilot," Sam whispered, voicing her suspicions aloud for the first time since he received his commission. Jack said nothing, but the shadow that fell over his gaze—the shadow she'd been glimpsing all week, when he thought she wasn't looking—confirmed the words she spoke.

"Sam… I—" He cut himself off abruptly, his unease multiplying tenfold. The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever. Finally, he retracted the black velvet box, his eyes shuttering in self-defense. "I understand," he finally delivered, short and clipped.

"Actually, I'm not sure you do," she countered, catching his hand tightly in hers. He froze, somewhere between pulling away and turning back to her. "I'm not looking to put you in a difficult position, okay? I'm not asking you to confirm or deny anything."

That made him turn, finally, to look at her. "But I know what you do is dangerous—more dangerous than anything else in the world. And I know that I don't want it to be the reason you propose."

"It's not! Sam, I love you—"

"I know that," she assured him. "And you know that I love you. But I will _not_ marry you so that you'll feel better about dying in the line of duty. I don't want you to die content, knowing that at least you've managed to get a ring on my finger."

Jack's eyes hardened. "So you want me to die alone and unhappy? Is that it?"

"No! I don't want you to die at all! I want you to fight to come home! I want you to do everything in your power to come home, to live out the rest of your life with me. Because I don't just want marriage—I want forever, Jack. I want always."

For a long moment, Jack didn't say anything. But he was listening.

"I already know you're the one for me, Jack," she declared. "I've known that since I was sixteen years old."

The smile she offered was watery, her lips quivering. He moved closer, his urge to comfort her as instinctive as breathing. She accepted his offered hand, clasping it in both of hers, never letting her eyes leave his.

"And while I know we'll exchange vows one day," Sam continued softly, "it won't be now. Not while you're on the front lines, in danger every single time you walk out my front door. Because 'til death do us part won't mean shit if death could take you away from me at any moment."

Her heart ached. Hurt played out across his features, so raw that it nearly knocked the breath out of her. Guilt clawed at her, urged her to take it back. Jack wanted this—the first thing he had ever admitted to wanting from her. But she couldn't do it. Not now. Not when she'd seen the agony her mother had faced, every time her father had gone overseas.

"So hold onto this," she said, tapping the box gently. "Because as soon as you're safe off the front lines, we'll walk down that aisle together. I promise. And in the meantime, you just keep coming home—okay?"

Jack didn't say a word. His features were dark and carefully inscrutable. Sam's heart pounded, but no longer in excitement. She could see him fighting the urge to pull away from her. She fought the tears rising in her throat as his hands left her arms, leaving an icy void behind. But Sam let him have the room to make his own decision. She was on the ledge—he could either leave in anger, bitter and resentful of her, or he would accept it, accept her, and still come home the next time.

But when he turned back to face her, she couldn't stop the tear that escaped, trailing down her cheek. Jack's sharp gaze saw it, and his features instantly softened. Suddenly he was her Jack again, the encroaching darkness evaporating like so much smoke.

He reached for her, gently capturing her hand as he stepped closer. Callused fingers massaged her palm, moving to her ring finger. Jack regarded the bare skin, tracing it with a fingertip.

"You promise?" he asked, his voice roughened by his own building tears. "You promise you'll let me put a diamond on this finger?"

She nodded, breath hitching. "Yes. But not right now. Not like this."

Brown eyes gazed at her, warm with trust and hope. "But some day?"

"Some day. Any day, when there's a better chance of you living for the next fifty years than there is of you falling in the line of duty."

His lips tightened, almost saying something but seeming to think better of it. For long, silent moments he simply breathed, the base of her finger still held gently between his.

"I can do someday," he murmured finally. "So long as you promise that it'll still be there when all this is said and done."

She closed the distance between them, and he let her. Her chest pressed against his, and his body curled around her, embracing her even though his hands remained on his. His warmth spread over her, and her tension bled away.

"I promise, Jack. I'll always be waiting."

He nodded, accepting her promise with the gentle warmth that was distinctly him. With a pensive look in his eye, he tucked his chin against his chest, his fingers working at the beaded silver chain dangling from his neck. He removed a single stamped dog-tag, and pressed it into her hand. Its mate remained where it was, safe and secure.

"Jack…"

"Take it," he urged. She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued too swiftly. "This is my promise, Sam. So long as you wait, I'll keep coming home." He offered a small smile. "These two," he motioned to the tags, "they're a pair."

Tears swelled once more, a lump rising in Sam's throat. An unspoken, unacknowledged fear abated in her chest, and suddenly she could breathe again, though she couldn't remember when she'd stopped. His words were simple, but like Jack, they communicated a depth of emotion that continued to take her by surprise.

Sam nodded, her chin quivering as she tried to fight the tears building in her eyes. She sniffled, then silently cursed herself for it. She nodded. "Okay," she whispered. "Deal."

His arms reached around her, pulling her closer. He buried his nose in her hair, his lips ghostly against her brow. When he spoke, his voice rumbled through her, the words coming low and clear. "Always?"

The single word was both solicitation and an offer of its own. Making sure her offer was still on the table, while letting her know he was all in.

She smiled into his shoulder: so was she.

"Always."


	15. Chapter 15

Months passed. Jack's visits home came fewer and farther apart. He got a second silver bar for his service—the rank of Captain, to match Kawalsky's—but it was cold comfort against the loneliness that followed him back to base. Every time he came home, he saw Sam falling deeper into her work, whatever it was she did.

She honored the classified nature of the project, despite her difficulty in curbing her enthusiasm around Jack. He saw it when he asked her vaguely how her work was going, in the way her eyes lit up with an exuberant smile. All he knew for sure was that the project was housed within Cheyenne Mountain. When he'd off-handedly remarked what an astrophysicist could be doing at NORAD, she muttered something about Deep Space Radar Telemetry. As plausible a cover it might have been, Jack didn't believe it for a second.

Whatever it was, it only kept Sam more enthralled as time went on. And as she was swept away by the thrill of fresh discovery, Jack felt himself continue to slip. He slipped deeper into the darkness his job required of him, and he found that the self he was while he was with her became more and more elusive.

Jack wasn't the only one affected by the long periods; as much as Sam loved her mysterious project, she'd taken up a personal project for when she was home. He'd been surprised to see the beat up old motorcycle tucked away to the side of her front steps. The Indian kept her hands busy, she said, and he wasn't one to judge or complain. In fact, seeing her wrist-deep in the guts of the thing with oil smeared across one cheek shot fire through his veins.

It was almost enough to make Jack feel like the kid he'd been when he first met her. Before he'd sold his soul to the Air Force, before he'd committed such bloody crimes in name of duty and country. When he was just a simple kid in love with a beautiful girl. In those moments, the rest fell away, and when he crouched down to hand her a wrench, they were back beneath the hood of a John Deere in the middle of a D.C. campus, falling deeper under each other's spell.

It was a slice of heaven, but one that only made the pain of leaving cut deeper for both of them. But when he was on the job he was in the zone, thoughts of Sam pushed aside in order to make room for the mission at hand. He'd made a promise, after all—he couldn't afford to be distracted. Distraction could lead to mistakes, and mistakes got people killed. It kept people from going home.

But not even the banishment of such thoughts could dispel the heavy knot that sat in his gut. It was only heavier after this most recent mission brief. It had been on Jack's mind during his workout that afternoon, and not even an hour of pounding the pavement on a grueling run had resolved the misgivings he had about the coming objective.

Now, sitting on the locker room bench, his gut roiled uneasily. His fingers yanked forcefully on his laces, cinching his boots tight. He wasn't surprised when Kawalsky poked his head around the corner. "Hey."

"Hey," Kawalsky returned. "You okay?"

Jack didn't answer. There was no point in lying. Kawalsky knew him well enough now to see through a lie. But at the same time, before a mission like this coming up, no one appreciated a naysayer. Kawalsky took a seat next to him, taking advantage of the hesitation. "What do you think about the mission?" his friend asked.

The briefing had been just that—brief. Sparse on details, and big on risk. But it was necessary, according to their superiors. "Edwards has a bad feeling," Jack answered finally. Edwards had been the only one to voice what they all were thinking.

"Screw Edwards. That dude's always getting bad juju vibes. His gut isn't worth spit." Kawalsky had him there. Jack grinned mutely. "I'm talking about _your_ gut here."

Jack sighed. "My gut's talking on this one too, Charlie. I got a real bad feeling."

Kawalsky sighed. "Yeah. I thought so. Doesn't exactly look real bright, does it?" For a long moment, neither of them said anything. And then—"Just don't forget you've got someone to come back to, all right?"

There it was. The real reason his gut was in knots. "Look, about that… Charlie, I need you to promise me something."

Kawalsky's eyes screwed shut—he didn't want to hear it. He knew what was coming. "Come on, Jack, no. None of that crap—"

"Dammit, Charlie, I've never asked you for anything, have I?"

Kawalsky couldn't deny it. Jack hadn't asked him for anything. They were a well-oiled machine, instinctively doing what needed to be done before either of them needed to say anything. But right now—right now, this needed to be said.

"If anything happens to me—"

"Jack, don't—"

"Just shut up and listen, all right?" Jack countered. "I need you to do this for me."

A long moment passed, and Kawalsky finally accepted, giving a solemn nod.

"If anything happens," Jack continued, "I want you to take care of Sam. I want you to be the one to tell her. Sam, she—she doesn't trust a lot of people, but she knows you. And you make sure she gets what's owed to her, okay? Don't let these idiots stiff her out of anything…"

"I won't," Kawalsky promised. "But Jack… I don't know…"

"What?" It was simple—what was there to not know?

Kawalsky's head shook side to side, chin low. "Jack, you and Sam… you're her world, man. You know that. Anyone would have to be blind not to see it. I don't know what good I, or anyone else, would do if you let yourself get killed."

Jack's heart seized. Yeah, he knew it. It was all he could think about, each time they got sent on a mission. Every time he put himself at risk he risked condemning her to a life alone. When he'd first put a name on his fears, he'd dismissed the thought as melodramatic and self-involved. But then he'd considered what would happen if he was the one at home, and it was Sam who was throwing herself into danger time after time. If it was Sam who, that one time, never came home. And then he knew that there would be no one who could keep him going without her. He might try, just to say he had, but the inevitable always popped in his head with the vision of an identical headstone standing next to hers. It was a fact he'd accepted for himself, but one he refused to consider for her.

"No," he ground out. "Don't let her give up. You help her move on. She'll find someone else, and you make sure they treat her right. You hear me?"

"She's not going to get over you—"

"Maybe not! But you promise me you're gonna help her keep going."

Kawalsky swallowed, a protest on his lips. But Jack refused to let their eye contact break. He held Charlie's gaze, firm and unyielding. Finally, his friend nodded, conceding.

"All right."

"Promise me, Charlie."

"I promise, Jack." His hand settled on Jack's shoulder, anchoring him with calming reassurance. "I promise."

Jack swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying to take comfort from the oath. It wasn't working. The heavy dread of the coming mission still felt like a noose around his neck. But it was all he could do. The rest was out of his control.

"Okay."

* * *

Sam sighed. The sun was warm on her skin, but all she could think about was getting inside her house and into her pajamas. She hadn't slept well in days now, and odds were she'd still be too anxious to sit still long enough to sleep. But she was going to try, if she had anything to say about it. Forget the sun, the robust fragrance of midsummer—until the marching band stopped stomping around in her head.

Her stomach ached as well, had been since early yesterday. It had been enough for Catherine to notice her discomfort, and once that happened, Sam hadn't stood a chance. The elderly doctor had banished her from the mountain for the next two days at the very least. Sam wouldn't be surprised if she forced another day or two of rest once the elder doctor caught sight of her timesheets for the past few weeks.

By her own admission, she'd spent more time working on Project Giza than could be considered healthy. They'd made some amazing progress—including the program she'd designed that would allow the computer to automatically spin the inner ring of the artifact, searching for viable symbol combinations—but she was now feeling the effects of the long hours.

If Jack were there, he'd scold her for not taking better care of herself. Then he would coax her to bed, with the sole purpose of finding new and creative ways of getting her to relax. Sam swallowed; thoughts of Jack rarely lifted her spirits these days. It had been too long since their last phone call, even longer since his last visit. She missed him.

Rounding the corner to her street, she dug through her purse for her keys. Usually she had the presence of mind to hold onto them until she'd gotten insider, but today it seemed she was operating, barely, on autopilot. Her bag suddenly seemed bottomless, and by the time she finally hooked her finger through her key ring, she was almost to her steps. It was only then that she heard the familiar voice from off to her right.

"Sam…"

She turned swiftly in surprise, her eyes instantly catching on familiar brown eyes. Excitement gripped her for a split second, her heart skipping a beat before she realized that neither of the two men standing by the dark-windowed sedan was her Jack.

"Charlie!" She took in the clean lines of his class Bravos, resplendent with ribbons and badges that glinted in the sun. His features were solemn, smooth with a schooled expression of neutrality. Sam's breath turned to ice in her lungs.

Her legs kept moving, closing the distance between them with choppy, wooden movements. Her ears roared, her eyes trying to see anything but the grim expressions looking back at her. Captain Charles Kawalsky swallowed, steeling himself to speak.

"Sam…"

"What happened?" Her voice scraped across her throat, tears burning at the back of her eyes. "Where's Jack?"

"We should go inside—"

"No." Charlie blinked, unprepared for the edge that sharpened her voice. Sam looked him in the eye, and saw his resolve crack.

His lips pursed, eyes traveling to his companion once before he met her gaze squarely. "Sam… Jack's gone."

Her heart plummeted, knocking the air from her as it fell. "No."

Charlie reached for her, sensing her unsteadiness, but she jerked away, anger briefly eclipsing the sense of her world shattering around her. "No! Don't—don't tell me that he's—" Her voice caught, hitching into a sob.

Her knees shook, and Charlie swiftly moved in to catch her before she could crumple. His arms wrapped around her, embracing her tightly. She collapsed against his chest, his hold slicing through her thin veneer of control. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and a sob exploded from her chest.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Charlie murmured, his lips close to her ear. Her mouth pressed against his shoulder, the fabric of his blouse swallowing the sounds of her anguish. "I'm so sorry…"

"No," she moaned, pleading now. "_Please…_"

"There was nothing we could do." Charlie clutched her tighter. "I'm so sorry, Sam. He's gone."


	16. Chapter 16

Sam swiped at her swollen eyes before she reached out with a shaking hand, accepting the glass of water Charlie offered. "I want to know what happened."

Charlie's features twisted, his hesitation clearly evident. "Sam…"

"No, Charlie!" She set the glass down on the coffee table, the cup smacked against the lacquered wood. "I don't care where you were, or what you were doing—I just need to know if you were there, if you saw what happened." She pulled in a quivery breath. "I need to know how—"

She couldn't bring herself to say it. Saying it made it real. It couldn't be real.

Charlie took a deep breath, glancing at Major Cromwell. His C.O. had wanted to make the trip with him—no doubt to assuage the guilt they both felt. Cromwell nodded his approval to share more information. Sam watched her friend settle himself, his posture softening as he turned towards her.

"All I'm at liberty to say is that a mission went bad," he started grimly. "We were withdrawing to the rendezvous point when Jack was hit."

Sam choked, unable to swallow a reflexive gasp of shock. Charlie paused, as though rethinking his decision to tell her. In the end, though, he took her hand in his. She gripped his palm tightly, incapable of speaking.

"We had to get to the chopper, Sam," he continued. She heard his own voice catch, tight with guilt and grief. "There was no time—I'm so sorry—"

In the space of a split second, Sam's world refocused into stunning clarity. "What?" A hard glare furrowed her brow. "You mean—you didn't bring him home?"

Charlie hesitated, and that was all the answer she needed. She snatched her hand back, as if he had burned her. "Oh, my god…"

"Sam, there wasn't time," Charlie said, eager for her to understand. "If we'd gone back for him… we couldn't lose any more lives to go back for a dead body!"

"No!" Sam surged to her feet. "No! You left him! You left him to die, alone!"

"He was already dead, Sam. I saw him go down, there was nothing we could do—!"

Sam shook her head, her lips twisting against the tears that now rose for another reason entirely. A new sense of dread climbed in her throat. "No… No, you don't know that. You saw him get hit. You saw him go down, but you did _not _see him die. You don't know that he's dead."

Major Cromwell took to his feet at that, inserting himself into the conversation for the first time. "Ma'am, please understand. I am very sorry for your loss—"

Sam turned on him with a searing glare. "I understand perfectly fine, Major."

"Captain O'Neill sustained a mortal injury," Cromwell continued, his bearing strong enough to withstand her attack. "There is no way—"

"Don't you _dare_." Sam stepped up to the Major, glaring at him with a vehemency that more than made up for the inches she lacked in height. "Don't you dare stand there and tell me what is possible and what's not." Blue eyes raked up his crisply uniformed frame, settling on the brass oak leaves adorning his epaulets. "You're his C.O., aren't you?"

Major Cromwell straightened, shoulders squarely. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm sure you want him to be dead, don't you?" she accused, fury radiating from her very being. "That way you wouldn't be the commanding officer who left an injured man to be captured by the enemy. That wouldn't look good on a promotion application, would it, Major?"

Cromwell's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his jaw clenched against the offense she threw at him. It was several long moments before he allowed himself to respond. "With all due respect, ma'am—"

"You can take your respect and shove it, Major." Sam's voice was low, lower than Charlie had ever seen. He watched, breath bated, as his C.O. forced his features to remain blank. "Get out of my house. Now."

To his credit, he only hesitated a moment. Then Major Cromwell brought his heels together in respectful acknowledgement. He executed an about face, and quietly let himself out.

Left alone with his friend, Charlie looked back to Sam, who was staring imperiously at the door as it close behind the Major. The latch clicked, and she turned away, her agitation forcing her to pace. Silence settled around them, interrupted only by her steps against the hardwood floor. She pointed at him, her finger shaking but accusatory. "He's not dead, Charlie."

"Sam…" He wanted to share her certainty, her hope. But he'd been there. He'd seen the hit.

"He's not!" This time she rounded on him, and he nearly took a step back at ferocity of the motion. "Don't try and tell me he is. You won't be able to convince me otherwise until you bring his body home."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. Sam watched him process her words, move past the instinctive protest against this new possibility. She didn't want to consider it either—it meant that somewhere, Jack was alive, but living in hell.

"Okay," he said finally, calmly shifting to rational argument. "Let's say he is alive. What do you plan to do next?"

Sam sucked in a breath, the last of her tears drying as determination steeled her resolve. She looked her friend dead in the eye, daring him to challenge her.

"I'm going to find him, Charlie," she vowed. "I'm going to find him, and then I'm going to bring him home."

* * *

Nearly an hour later, Charlie stepped out onto Sam's front stoop. The sun was on its way below the skyline of the city, bathing the block in a rich golden light that seemed to mock the heartache Charlie left behind in the house. Sam was calling her boss, presumably to arrange for some time off, and Charlie took the opportunity to check in with his C.O.

Cromwell was waiting, standing by the sedan. The older man was clearly agitated, but he hid it when he saw Charlie descending the stairs. They met on the sidewalk, and together moved towards the vehicle. "How is she?" Cromwell queried, his voice low.

Charlie hesitated. "Better than me, sir."

"She still convinced he's alive?" The Major's voice was low.

"Yes, sir. We're not going to be able to change her mind." Charlie believed that with every fiber of his being. Sam wouldn't give up. She wouldn't let him go. Charlie couldn't bring himself to be surprised—he'd been the one to warn Jack this would happen.

Frank Cromwell sighed, running a rough hand over his eyes. He shifted on his feet, then looked to Kawalsky. "You think there's anything to it?"

Charlie knew what he was really asking. Was there a chance they'd left Jack to be captured and tortured? Was there a chance they'd left their man behind? He didn't want to consider it any more than Cromwell did, because even if she was right, the Air Force wouldn't let them go back for him. The whole area had been declared a no-fly zone.

But even so, Charlie was starting to believe in Sam. Against all reason, he believed in the strength of her blind faith. He pulled in a deep breath, bracing himself. "What I think, sir," he began warily, "is that if there's anyone who can bring Jack home, it's Samantha Carter."

To his credit, Cromwell didn't really seem surprised. He took the declaration in stride. He nodded, then turned to Kawalsky. "How's your head doing, Captain?"

Charlie blinked. "Excuse me, sir?"

"That knock you took on the retreat to the rendezvous," Cromwell elaborated. Confusion washed over Charlie; he hadn't hit his head. He almost wished he had—it would excuse the fact that he'd left his best friend behind. He looked up to the Major, who leveled a pointed look his way. "You were reluctant to mention it during your post-mission physical because you wanted to be the one to inform the Captain's next-of-kin."

Suddenly, it clicked. Charlie straightened. "Yes, sir." He swallowed. "It's gotten worse, I think. Probably wasn't a good idea to not get it checked out before." Cromwell nodded. "It might be a good idea for me to take some time, sir."

"I'll make sure you get it, Captain," the Major returned. "I'll have the doc sign off on your medical leave, effective immediately." He stepped away, meeting Charlie's eyes meaningfully. "In the meantime, you give Miss Carter all the support she needs. Understood?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent." Major Cromwell turned to take his leave. "Take good care of her, Captain."

With that, the Major got behind the wheel and pulled away, leaving Kawalsky behind. Charlie turned back to the house, his spirits bolstered. He just got direct, if unofficial, orders to help Sam in her new mission. He would get to keep the promise he made to Jack. He would help Sam move on.

And if helping her move on meant bringing Jack home—then so be it.


	17. Chapter 17

Jack's eyes opened of their own accord, fighting swollen lids that were crusted with god only know what. Somewhere, far beyond the stiff confines of his cell, someone screamed, agonized and visceral. Jack felt the cry reverberate in his bones—it wouldn't be long until they came, and then it would be his turn again. His turn to be strung up, beaten burned, or flogged. His turn to listen to questions shouted at him in a foreign language.

His turn to pretend not to know what they were saying.

They wanted to know who he was, what he was doing there. What his mission had been, before his team had left him to rot in this desert pit of despair.

He'd been trained for this situation. Even now he could hear the words of his instructor, and of his C.O. _Say nothing until you can't hold out any longer_, Major Frank Cromwell growled in his ear. _Then, think about something else, anything else. Give information they don't need, just enough to make them think they have something._

Everyone breaks. The goal was to draw it out as long as possible, give your team time to find you.

Which was a nice thought, but a hollow one, since he knew for a fact that no one was coming for him. He'd seen his chopper leave, carrying all but him to safety. They'd left him, despite the vows of no man left behind. He was just another statistic, another nameless casualty of war.

But he'd known this was coming, hadn't he? It was why he'd proposed to Sam—so that when it happened at least he'd have shown her how he felt. She'd denied him that comfort. It was a denial he couldn't begrudge, though. Sam was right to protect herself—she didn't deserve to be a widow so young.

No—he couldn't think about her. Not here, not when he was ready to spill his guts to the next guy to walk through his cell door. _Tell them something else_, Cromwell whispered gruffly, _anything else_. He couldn't tell them about her. She was pure—innocent. He wouldn't give her, not even his memory of her, over to these stinking, brutal tormentors. He'd die first. Sam was his, and he would take her to his grave.

But thoughts of graves had him seeing double—one headstone his, the other hers. A match made in heaven, to pass with them into death. He couldn't do that to her. He wouldn't condemn her to such a fate. He had promised, after all. He'd promised to come home.

It was that thought he clung to, when the door burst open, and rough hands dragged him up, wrenching his abused shoulders. He passed from cell to hall to room. He saw shimmering coals, glowing in the brazier, and swallowed his anguish.

He'd promised to come home. He wouldn't make it on his own; he'd just have to trust that she would help him limp his way out of hell, and back into her arms.

* * *

Sam blinked at the sound of her name, and offered a shaky smile when she recognized Catherine's familiar features. "Hey… Is something wrong with the dialing program?"

They'd known from the old reports that the inner ring spun, like a giant combination lock. Back when Catherine's father had been on the project, they'd moved the track by hand. When Catherine had reopened Project Giza, they'd set up a rudimentary electrical connection to the artifact, so that a technician could manually type in combinations from a keyboard.

But it was Sam's new program that enabled a single computer to dial combinations continuously, without the need for constant monitoring. It was convenient, and freed up manpower to fine-tune the process and delve deeper into the mechanics of the artifact itself. Their understanding of it had increased exponentially, but even so, no combination the sequencing program had generated managed to engage a wormhole.

It was a disappointment, but one of which she was only vaguely aware. The foremost concern in her mind was Jack, and her mission to first locate him and then bring him home. Only momentary distractions, like Catherine's presence now, could pull her away from her current project.

"No, no, everything's fine," Catherine assured her. Keen eyes surveyed the room and its scattered contents, spread across a number of tables. "I understand the Air Force gave you authorization for this endeavor?"

"Mhmm," Sam confirmed distractedly, "don't worry, it won't interfere with Project Giza."

"Sam, you know your work has been nothing less than exemplary," came the gentle admonishment. Catherine's gentle hand gestured to the cluttered room. "But I can't help but wonder if you might feel better to make this your primary focus."

But Sam was already shaking her head. "No, Catherine, I'm fine."

"You haven't gone home in days, Sam. You've been the consummate professional this past month, and quite frankly that concerns me." When Sam had explained her divided attentions, Catherine had been struck by her smooth calm. Catherine knew, in her shoes, she couldn't have been able to hold herself together so well—she hadn't in the past. "Anyone else would be…"

"Would be what, Catherine?" Sam's voice hardened. "Sobbing? Breaking down? Planning a funeral?" Blue eyes flashed angrily, glinting in the fluorescent lights. "I'm not _anyone else_, Catherine. I'm me, and _I_ need to keep working."

Catherine hesitated, but then pressed on, risking the temper she heard simmering just beneath the surface. "And if I'm concerned about the state of your health? What then?"

The younger doctor's lips parted to fire off a scathing response, but then closed. Sam turned away, visibly reeling herself in. Again, Catherine found herself awed by the pristine control the woman had.

"Doctor Langford, please."

Catherine blinked. She hadn't been 'Dr. Langford' to Sam for months now. She enjoyed the other doctor's company, and at times even felt privileged for the familiarity between them. Not everyone on the project could boast the same level of comfort with the prodigious young woman.

"I process things differently from most people," Sam confided softly, her fingers tight against the surface of the lab table. "I appreciate your concern, but please trust me when I say that 'rest' is something I won't find until Jack comes home."

Hesitation gripped Catherine by the heart. She didn't want to mention the unthinkable, but someone had to.

"Samantha… there's no way to know for sure he is even still alive—" Catherine fell abruptly silent when Sam's gaze chilled to ice.

The shift in demeanor was so swift, so abrupt that Catherine had to fight the urge to take a step back.

"I don't need you telling me the odds. Nor do I need you telling me that _this,_" her hand agitatedly gestured to the blueprints and parts arrayed around her, "is a waste of my time. If that's your purpose here, you might as well go and leave me to my work."

Doctor Carter turned away, shutting Catherine out as completely as if she'd slammed a door on her. Catherine nearly acquiesced, and even turned to leave before some voiceless whisper urged her to linger. Quietly, she crossed back to where Sam's gaze stared unseeingly at an expanse of complicated blueprints. She glanced uncomprehendingly at the partially completed plans, but then focused once more on the woman studiously ignoring her.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Catherine uttered softly. "It wasn't my place to—"

"No, it wasn't," came the she bit out sharply. Sam's eyes flashed up at her. "You don't know me, and you don't know Jack."

She didn't know _them_. That was what Sam was trying to tell her. She knew Sam, better than some of the other scientists and military personnel, but Catherine hadn't even met this Jack, not even seen a picture. And the two of them were an insular unit, of which the rest of the world was outside.

Catherine couldn't reply to that. She waited, patiently, hoping Sam would continue. Finally, she did, blue eyes softening as her defenses lowered just a fraction. The vulnerability was acute, a fissure in the smooth visage she presented to the rest of the world.

"My father…" Sam's voice was shaky, and she had to pause to compose herself. Catherine blinked in surprise—she knew that Sam was the First Daughter. She'd known the fact when she'd approached Sam in the lecture hall, but since then the topic of her father had never come up.

"When he first ran for office," Sam continued, "the press ran stories of my family." Hooded eyes examined Catherine carefully. "Did you read them?"

Catherine hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. She'd read them. So had the rest of America.

"Then you know that I lost my mother when I was fifteen." Catherine nodded again.

She'd read the breaking headlines, seen the photographs of a young Samantha Carter standing grim and pale in her mourning clothes, kneeling to place a bouquet of white roses at her mother's gravestone.

"What the press never knew," Sam rasped, "was that I was in the car when it happened. I watched my mother die."

Dear Lord. She'd been so young when it happened. To have witnessed something like that… it broke Catherine's heart. No child should ever have to witness the death of a parent.

"And then, my final year of high school, an earthquake collapsed the building I was in. I don't remember much, but the man assigned to protect threw himself on top of me. He gave his life to save mine." Her lips pressed together tightly. "His name was Geordie, and he was my friend. One of the best friends I ever had—"

Sam halted, her sob hastily disguised as a cough. Catherine fought to keep her own eyes clear of the tears building behind her lids. Sam wasn't telling her any of this for sympathy or pity, she knew, but it was all Catherine felt. That, and heartache for her young friend, for this sweet young woman who had seen more hardship than anyone should ever have to.

"I'm no stranger to loss," Sam continued, clearing her throat as she straightened, rising to her full height once more. "But I still consider myself lucky that I was there. I held my mom's hand until her heart stopped beating, and I think Geordie knew that I would make it when he died. I've been lucky enough to have been given that gift, God knows why. But I won't let Jack be the exception here. I promised—I promised myself that when the time came, for one or both of us… that we'd be together. That neither of us would ever die alone."

Her voice caught slightly, and Catherine reached out to her. Covering the younger woman's hand with her own, she gave it a squeeze. "It's not fair to put that kind of burden on yourself, Sam. There are just some things that are beyond your control."

"But that doesn't mean I have to sit here, do _nothing,_" she whispered. "I can't sit here, and not do everything that _is _within my control, and not make every attempt to bring him home. Not when he's out there, somewhere, dying alone and far from home. I can't! Not when I haven't exhausted every available resource to try and find him."

Blue eyes flashed up at Catherine, meeting her gaze once again. A fervor burned deep within them, daring Catherine to play devil's advocate. "So _don't_ tell me that it may all be for nothing, Catherine, or that I'm already too late. Because I can't accept that. I won't."

Catherine swallowed, accepting her friend's mission with a single nod. She looked into Sam's teary eyes, and registered the hope that still burned behind the damp of despair. "All right," she said finally. Silence fell over them, thickening the air until it felt like syrup. Finally, Catherine cleared her throat, turning back to the blueprints between them.

"What's all this?"

Sam sighed, her focus shifting. "I've tried to get the Air Force's cooperation in mounting a rescue operation, but they won't do anything until they have intel that's more concrete than the hysterics of a desperate girlfriend." She sighed heavily. A hand lifted tiredly, indicating a stack of manila folders, the topmost of which was stamped with an emboldened "Eyes Only" classification.

"The files they've been willing to give me are so heavily redacted they're absolutely useless, but they keep telling me that there's no record of a prison anywhere near where he went down, and—" The growing ramble ceased abruptly, betraying her growing frustration. A moment later it was gone again, her attention returning to the project at hand.

"They gave me permission to design a UAV to do some aerial surveillance of the region," Sam said, carefully hedging her words.

She didn't tell Catherine about the stealth technology she'd designed to allow it to fly blind to the radar, or the patent-pending aerodynamics she'd incorporated to give it increased maneuverability. If it worked well in the search for Jack, it would be employed across the globe by the United States Armed Forces. But that part was classified, even to Catherine. Only Sam and whomever she chose to read into the project would know the full extent of the design and its secrets.

Catherine wisely didn't press the matter any further. She simply nodded. "If you need to take some time to focus on this, Dr. Halstrom and his team will be able to monitor the dialing program on their own." She lifted a hand to head off Sam's protest before it could start. "I accept your dedication, Doctor, but as your supervisor, and your friend, I will not stop caring for your wellbeing."

Sam's cheeks and neck flushed, but said nothing. "Don't run yourself into the ground, Sam. You won't be doing Jack any favors by letting your health slip. All right?"

For a long moment, Sam didn't respond. But when Catherine didn't relent, she finally acquiesced with a nod. She heard, she understood. But she couldn't guarantee she could keep any promise Catherine exacted from her. She needed to work. If she stopped, for even a second, she would have to think about Jack, alone and suffering in some unfathomable corner of hell on Earth.

That wasn't an option. She needed her head on straight. She had to keep working.

Catherine turned to leave, then paused. She looked back at her young friend. "Oh, and some of the enlisted personnel have heard about your side project. Sergeant Siler asked me to extend an offer of his services, whenever you're ready."

Sam couldn't hide the smile that involuntarily tugged at her lips. Sly Siler was a kindred spirit, and often her partner in upgrading new systems attached to the Gateway. Where her passion was the physics of the artifact, and the possibilities that lay just beyond their limitations, Siler's forte was the nuts and bolts of its operation. His was the hardware to her software, their respective disciplines hand-in-hand so often that already they shared a rapport she hadn't found with anyone else in academia.

Studiously staring at the blueprints in front of her, Sam nodded.

"Thank you. I may take him up on that." His input would be invaluable, if only in that he could look over her design, and fine tune it in ways she couldn't.

"And if you ever need to speak to anyone, Sam… about anything—" Catherine met her gaze, eyes kind and warm. "You know where to find me."

Sam nodded. The final words of kindness broke through the last of her control, and as the older woman finally left her to her task, a solitary tear dashed against a pale cheek. For a moment, she let herself long for her mother, of whom Catherine sometimes reminded her. She imagined Jack's arms around her, their warmth banishing the chill of the lab around her. She was home, for a moment.

But then her eyes opened with renewed resolve, the tears swiped cleanly away. Home was a long way away, and would continue to be so until she found Jack.

It was time to get to work.


	18. Chapter 18

Jack had lost all sense of time. His cell didn't have a window, and his interrogators didn't exactly extend him the courtesy of telling him what hour of day it was. His existence was marked by the start and stop of each session with his tormentors, and the degree with which the pain wracked his body was the only indication he had of how long each session lasted.

At some point, he managed to pull his head above the roiling ebb and tide of pain pulling at his awareness, and saw a shadow sitting in the corner of his cell. He first assumed it was a trick of the light, then he considered it might be one of his captors, making a little side stop. But when his attempts to ignore it resulted in a dark hand lifting to wipe at an indistinguishable face, he realized he was dreaming.

He had a roommate. With the threat of danger past, Jack almost fell back into an exhausted sleep, but the tight set to the silhouette's shoulders made him hesitate, tightening his grip on awareness instead of letting go.

"Hey," he croaked. His voice was rusty, squeaking from the painful screams that had been pulled from his throat not too long ago. "You speak English?"

The shadow lifted its head. "Yeah."

Hot damn. It was his lucky day. The guy even sounded American. "How long you been there?"

Shoulders shrugged in the darkness. "Not sure. Half a day, maybe. They brought you in a few hours ago."

Not that long then. And the guy was definitely American. His day was just getting better and better. Jack reached out, his range of motion limited by over-stretched muscles. "Captain Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force."

A tousled red head leaned into what little light there was in the cell, revealing features that were ruddy with sunburn, but appeared relatively untouched. Just a black eye and fat lip, to Jack's eyes.

"Lieutenant Louis Ferretti," the man returned, grasping the offered hand. "US Air Force."

Jack's throat closed reflexively. It was ridiculous, he knew. Ferretti was just as much a prisoner as he was, and no more capable of escape. But Ferretti was USAF, and a bizarre sense of comfort slammed into Jack with the force of a speeding freight train. He grinned, as much as he could through parched lips.

"Good to see a familiar face, Ferretti," he ground out finally. A fellow flyboy. Who'd'a thunk?

"Yes, sir."

The guy was green; a far cry from the self-assured presence of Kawalsky and the other men of his unit. He seemed to be holding himself together all right so far, though. Thank god. Jack didn't have the energy to deal with a hysterical cellmate. It was all he could do to keep himself from crying anyway for the moment.

Now that he was awake, his mind had made the short skip, hop, and a jump into overdrive. What was the point in giving him a roommate? Were they really that hard up for space? Jack suspected it had more to do with him than Ferretti. Jack was the senior officer—he would know more. It might be a new tactic, putting Ferretti in a position to be victimized while Jack watched. If he had any kind of decency, he would relinquish his knowledge posthaste before he let them get anywhere close to the younger man.

Jack spent a few precious minutes talking to his new companion, determined to keep morale blostered. Escape may be next to impossible, even with Ferretti on his side, but if nothing else, he was now exactly one man stronger than he'd been yesterday. Neither of them could afford to feel defeated.

Eventually though, sleep overcame him. His dreams were tormented by the renewed hope of rescue. When he woke again it was to the sound of raucous Arabic as bodies stormed the room. Jack tensed, but then grew confused when hands didn't immediately start dragging him. It was a long moment before he realized that the scramble he heard was not for him, but for Ferretti.

With a strength he didn't know he had, Jack staggered to his feet and lunged at the closest body. His arms snaked around an unsuspecting neck, executing a swift blood choke that had his man down in a matter of seconds. Someone shouted, and then all hell began raining down on him.

The storm of blows soon had him down and curled into a protective ball, but that didn't keep him from being dragged from the cell. The door slammed shut after them, sequestering Ferretti within, and Jack felt a rush of something he'd long thought lost to him. Pride jolted his very being, and he almost had to fight a smile.

Even after having every dignity stripped from him, he just might still be able to look Sam in the eye when he made it home. Because even here at the edge of the world, he could still do the right thing, no matter the cost to himself. He could still do some good, for the wet-behind-the-ears Lieutenant he was now responsible for.

His shoulders creaked audibly as his wrists were drawn up above his head, the sound lost beneath the din of screaming Arabic and the thud of fists against flesh. Jack pushed his reality away, and returned to the one place he was always safe, the one thing they had yet to take from him. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he was staring into wide blue eyes shining with a warm, gentle light that banished the pain.

_Sam…_

* * *

"JACK!"

Sam bolted upright, fighting the twisted ropes of sheet tangled around her limbs. The darkness that slammed against her suddenly awakened senses left her gasping, heart thudding panicked in her ears. Her chest heaved, hands pressed tight to her sternum as she fought to regain herself.

The door burst open, the light blazing as Charlie flicked the lamp on. He stood in the doorway, clad in a beater and briefs, hair mussed but instincts ready to fight. When his bleary eyes met Sam's, he relaxed, features softening.

He took a step towards her just as her control splintered, the shock of waking combined with his startled entrance too much. Her vision blurred before tears erupted, accompanied by huge, wracking sobs that tore through her body. Her nightmare was quickly becoming nothing more than an echo, but the ache of loss persisted even as strong arms encircled her, pulling her to a rock-solid chest.

Kawalsky didn't say a word. The moment he'd heard her shout he'd deduced the nature of her nightmare—he'd had the same ones, he was sure of it. His own mind replayed the day Jack got hit, forcing him to helplessly watch the imagined tortures he saw Jack endure, a spectral witness to his friend's pain.

But he wasn't exhausted by multiple all-nighters and the stress of two highly-classified projects. The UAV had been completed, but that only left her another, bigger task to focus on in the meantime. Charlie didn't know what it was, but he knew that someone under that mountain had insisted Sam go home to sleep for once. Of course her first night of real sleep would be broken by hellish nightmares.

As Sam's tears slowly abated, he could almost feel the exhaustion settle back into her bones. But even as it laid its claim on her he knew she would not be sleeping again tonight. She'd find something, anything to do that would keep her awake and away from the nightmares.

"We'll find him," Charlie assured her, letting her pull away.

She swiped at her cheeks, smearing the salty tracks of moisture further across her skin. Her hand reached for one of the sheets puddled in her lap, but left it when she found the fabric clammy with cooling sweat. She sniffed brusquely, the sound rough with bitter anguish.

"Not soon enough," she muttered, self-loathing turning the words brittle and sharp. "We're already too late."

Her voice broke, tears resuming unbidden once more. They silently coursed down her cheeks as she levered herself around him, long legs reaching for the floor as she shakily made her way to the bathroom. Charlie was left to sit as the door shut behind her, shielding her from watchful eyes.

The faucet turned on, but not even the rush of running water could hide the sounds of Sam sliding down the far side of the door, thumping against the floor as her legs dropped her on the tile floor. Charlie stood, crossing to the door in question with hesitant strides. His hand raised to knock, but froze when he heard the rustle of harried movement before hands squeaked against the porcelain rim of the toilet. Faint sounds of retching drifted past the solid, wooden barrier, and he paused. That one second of hesitation was enough for doubt to take hold.

Charlie gritted his teeth, swallowing his urge to comfort her. Jesus. What good was he? Two months in, and they were no closer to finding Jack than they'd been when he first went down. Sam was the one trying to find him, the only smart enough to look for while navigating the maze of red tape gouging paths into Washington D.C. He was there to help Sam keep it together, to keep her going, but he wasn't even able to do that.

His fist fell to clench tightly against his thigh. Sam didn't want his comfort. She didn't need him. She needed the one thing Charlie couldn't give her. She needed Jack.

With one last look towards the silent bathroom door, Charlie left the room. He didn't go back to his own bed in the guest room. He made his way downstairs, and after a moment's thought, he set up the chessboard that resided on her living room coffee table. If he couldn't comfort her, then maybe he could distract her, when she was ready.

Resentment—for himself, for the situation that left him so powerless— simmered just below the surface, creating a lump in his throat that sat like a lead brick. He sat alone in the pale light of a table lamp that cut through the night's late shadows. When Sam finally padded down the stairs, eyes red with features pale and drawn, she paused when she saw him sitting there. A long moment passed where Charlie thought she would go right back upstairs, or she would move on without a word.

But the moment passed when she blinked, her bare feet carrying her over to join him. She sat, and wordlessly made the first move. They played again and again, until the sun came up and then some, the only sound made their soft murmurs of _check_ and _mate. _They kept going until Sam's eyes started to slam, at which point Charlie paused their game to get a glass of water for himself. When he returned she was on her side against the armrest, head pillowed on folded arms.

He spread a blanket over her, careful not to rouse her. And then he settled in to wait, a silent guard against the nightmares that would try to rip her from sleep once more. It wasn't much, but if he could get her a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, well… At least it'd be something.


	19. Chapter 19

"What do you mean?" Sam froze in her pacing, listening to the phone pressed to her ear. "No _opportunity_?! General, you have the footage from the UAV! There's a compound down there with a big enough heat signature to be a prison and then some! And you're telling me that's not enough of a concern to warrant a strike team?!"

Charlie sat on the couch, listening to Sam's side of the conversation. He knew what she was being told—he'd long suspected that the UAV wouldn't amount to much in the short term. Not because Sam hadn't followed through on her part of the bargain, but because the military was a slave to bureaucracy and politicians who demanded an accounting of every expenditure, every cost risk of a mission. Rescue ops were difficult to set up, and had to produce considerable benefit. The smudge of heat in the desert was still too much of a mystery to do anything about just yet. They'd keep an eye on it, but it could be more than a year before things came together enough for an operation to be mounted.

"General, please don't—"

Her voice cut off abruptly, telling him exactly how the conversation ended. "He hung up on me," she delivered needlessly, tone quiet. In the blink of an eye the phone shattered against the wall, flung by a vicious temper that twisted Sam's features. "Dammit!"

Her hands came up to hide haggard features, her body collapsing onto the couch beside Kawalsky. When his hand touched her knee in silent reassurance, her hands fell away to reveal eyes stained red with tears.

"It's been three months, Charlie. Three months, and we're nowhere closer to finding him than we were before."

"Yes, we are," Kawalsky contradicted. She shook her head, but he didn't let her pull away. "We both know that if he's anywhere, he's there. That's one less hoop to jump through when the time comes."

"That's not good enough! We know where he is, we should be moving now, not later. Not when every second we waste watching the Pentagon drag its feet is another second that he's—"

She cut herself off abruptly, and Charlie was glad for it. Neither of them were stupid or naïve. They knew what Jack was likely enduring. That when they got him back, he wouldn't be the same man they'd last seen. But they didn't voice it aloud.

"I know, Sam," Charlie voiced carefully. She didn't respond; she didn't even look at him. He slid closer to her, until their thighs were touching. Then, tentatively, he reached out and tucked a soft strand of blonde hair behind her ear. The touch he brushed across her cheek was so gentle it made his heart lodge in his throat, his pulse racing in his wars. When she didn't pull away, he moved one step farther, letting his hand trail to the back of her neck, offering her a silent comfort.

She looked at him then, her eyes damp and overcast with growing despair. "What if we're too late, Charlie?" she whispered, voice shaking. "What if we get there, and all that's left to bring back is…" A sob strangled her words, and Charlie leaned in, her brow tilting to meet his. "We're so close, but we could still lose him."

"That won't happen, Sam."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. So do you. He knows you're coming. He'll hold on, for you. You know he will."

But her head shook against his, a tear splashing onto his pant leg as it fell loose. "He thinks he's been abandoned, Charlie. He knows that he's been left behind. He has no reason to think anyone will be coming for him."

"Maybe he doesn't know the kind of magic you can pull out of your hat," Charlie countered, "but he knows you're waiting. He won't give up on you." He pulled back, looking her in the eye. "You hear me?"

She nodded, lips quivering, and Charlie pulled her into a hug. Wet tears dampened his shoulder, as long arms curled around his neck, accepting the comfort he offered with wordless gratitude. He held her, trying to ignore the electric pulse that set his senses aflame. When she pulled away, he let her collect herself, offering a tissue that she used to wipe her cheeks.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"Don't mention it." He patted her knee. "Just don't lose hope on me, Sam. I know it's frustrating, but sometimes when the military's involved, we just have to wait for the stars to align, you know?"

Her head bobbed, sniffling into the tissue. Then she froze. Charlie watched warily, not sure what was wrong.

"Say that again."

Her voice was thick still, but stronger than it'd been a moment ago.

"Uh…" Charlie searched for something to say. "I mean, they have to consider a lot of factors, and they can't really do anything until they all come together—"

"Until the stars align," she murmured. But suddenly, he realized she wasn't really talking to him anymore. "The stars… They're constellations" The last was a whisper, so low he could barely register the words before she was on her feet.

"Sam?" His hesitant query went unnoticed, as she found her house phone in the kitchen, and briskly dialed a number.

"Catherine? It's Sam." Charlie ran his palms against the rough fabric of his jeans, and struggling to get his heart rate back to its normal rhythm. What was wrong with him? "I can't explain right now," she continued. "Just get the team back to the office, and I'll tell you everything there… Yes, I know what time it is. Trust me, Catherine, it's all hands on deck."

A moment later she'd issued a hasty goodbye and hung up, turning back to where Charlie still sat. He didn't dare breathe. Her tears were gone and in their place was a fierce gleam of determination that seemed to glow around her like an aura of power.

"Charlie, I need your help."

He blinked, then climbed to his feet. "You have it," he responded. "What're you thinking?"

"You said that it was a matter of jumping through hoops… You're right." She came around the kitchen island. "If there's one thing I learned at my father's side, it's that if others don't jump, you can either move the hoop to where they're already jumping, or you can circumvent the hoop completely."

Charlie lifted an eyebrow. "Okay… I have no idea what that means."

"It means that if you can't shake something loose from one of your contacts in the next 24 hours, then it's time to get creative."

Oh, boy. Charlie wasn't sure what she meant by that. All right, I'll see what I can do." He paused. "You heading out?"

She nodded. "Yes. It shouldn't take long, but I have to go to the mountain real quick. I can't really explain—"

"It's all right," he cut in quickly. He understood the concept of need-to-know. Besides, he suspected it would just give him a headache anyway.

"Look, if you don't get anything in 24 hours, I'll need you to take care of something for me."

"Name it."

She took a deep breath. "I'll need you to get me two burn phones," she rushed out. "Encrypted, coded, whatever it takes to make sure that no one can listen in, know who made the call or who received it." Blue eyes looked up at him beseechingly. "Can you do that?"

Charlie blinked, surprised. "Uhh… Yeah. Sure." Burn phones would be a piece of cake compared to trying to prod the Air Force into action.

"Good. When you get the phones, go ahead and bring them back here and wait 'til I get back, okay?"

"All right. I'll be here."

She gave him a quick hug and a peck to the cheek and then she was gone, swiping her purse and keys on the way out. The door shut, and then he was alone, adrift in the wake of Hurricane Sam.

With a shiver he shook himself out of it, and picked up the phone. As he dialed the first number, he issued a silent warning to Jack O'Neill, wherever he was. He'd better hang on, because if he got himself killed, it wouldn't matter what Charlie had promised him.

Sam wouldn't be able to move on, ever. Not really. She wouldn't find the same happiness with anyone else the way she was happy with Jack. There was no other person in the world who could love her the way she ought to be— no matter how much Charlie wished he could.

Charlie turned away from the front door, putting thoughts of Sam from his mind. He heard the other end of his call pick up, and focused on the task on hand. "Hey, Jim, Chuck here. I'm gonna need a favor..."

_Just hang on, Jack._


	20. Chapter 20

"What do you mean?" Adam Halstrom pushed his glasses higher on his face. Around him, half a dozen men and women in white lab coats watching the unfolding scene with wide eyes that bounced back and forth between their two strongest minds. Halstrom was combative, and Sam Carter refused to be walked on. It made meetings such as these tense but enlightening.

"You were the one who said the ring was like a combination lock," the man accused, eyes narrowing behind his lenses.

Sam nodded, undaunted by her colleague's judgment. "Yes, I did. And I think I was wrong." Eyes darted back to Halstrom, who blinked owlishly at the admission. He would never have owned up to such a glaring mistake. This would set them back months. "I wrote the cold-dial program based on the "lock" theory, and as we all know, it hasn't yielded a single viable wormhole."

"If the symbols are constellations as you say," Catherine asked, cutting to the heart of the chase, "how does that change how the program operates? Is it not still a matter of selecting the correct symbols?"

"Yes, and no. The symbols aren't just random glyphs. They're two-dimensional representations of recognizable constellations we can find in Earth's sky. Well, most of them are," she amended. "I should have made the connection earlier—I lost sight of the bigger picture."

No one said anything. Her divided attentions were well-known at this point; the reason behind them had even made the rounds, somehow. But despite her distraction, she had made contributions to the project that none of them could sneer at. She was still the major contributor to Project Giza, and they knew it. Even Dr. Halstrom, for all his grumbling, could deny her influence.

"So, I got to thinking," Sam continued, "what if we're not looking for the magic combination that will open a wormhole? What if these symbols, these _constellations_ aren't pieces of a scrambled password, but rather are possible spatial coordinates?"

The room went dead silent. She was right—it was a confounding theory, one that many scientists would have balked at. But it had potential, in the sense that it was such a bizarre it just might work. They knew so little about the artifact, none of them had any reason why such an idea wouldn't be a complete breakthrough.

The slim, brown-haired woman who was Dr. Halstrom's assistant timidly raised her hand. "Excuse me, Doctor Carter, but what you're suggesting would mean that the artifact is not unique." She paused, glancing around at the other doctors, who stared wide-eyed at her. "Doesn't it?"

"It does, and it's preposterous," Halstrom declared. He glared at Sam. "Your theory is viable only if there's a partner device to which the wormhole connects."

Sam nodded. "Yes. Hypothetically, the artifact is in effect plotting a course through spacetime to a specific destination point. It stands to reason that another Gateway would be on the receiving end."

By god. It was unheard of. Catherine looked around the room. She'd be the first to admit that she knew little about theoretical wormholes. But she was fairly certain that Sam had just made the huge leap from theory to reality—that this artifact does not merely observe or measure wormholes, but specifically _generated_ wormholes.

Dr. Halstrom's assistant, Hannah, spoke up once again. "You mean that another ring like ours is on another planet, somewhere." Again, Sam nodded, the tight set of her lips the only indication she realized how outrageous her theory was. "But our ring has been on Earth for thousands of years… how could one have gotten to another _planet_?"

For a long moment, the room was completely silent. No one wanted to field that particular question, no one wanted to consider what such a theory suggested. But it was Sam who broached it in the end, taking charge in the way only she could.

"That's something I hope we're able to figure out, Hannah," she said, her voice warm. "But I'm going to need everyone's help. This completely changes how we've been looking at the artifact, and I know that after more than a year working on this thing it's going to be difficult to reorientate ourselves, but if we work together we should be able to make some amazing strides."

Dr. Halstrom remained conspicuously silent, his eyes flinty behind his glasses. But his assistant was definitively more supportive. "To be honest, Dr. Carter, I'm not even sure where we should start now. Do we need to go back to the very beginning?"

Blonde hair slid across a lab-coated shoulder as Sam shook her head. "I'm not sure yet. I don't think that would be necessary at the moment. That's something we'll be able to determine once we know a little bit more. In the meantime, I'd like you and Peter," she gestured to the other young member of the team, a graduate student who was actually older than Sam herself, "to beginning analyzing the symbols on the inner track of the ring. I know you have a background in astronomy proper, so I'd like you to head up the task of identifying each symbol."

Hannah nodded, flushing at the praise that came with being chosen for a position of responsibility. Sam turned to the only man wearing a military uniform.

"Sergeant Siler, I'm going to need fresh energy readings of the gate. I've already halted the cold-dial program; hopefully our attempts to dial out haven't overwritten the original energy traces. When you've got the current data compiled, I'll need it compared to those taken when the project was re-opened. We're looking for any clues that could help us identify the symbols used to create the last stable wormhole. Dr. Halstrom, I'd like you to help him with that."

For a long moment, no one moved. Then, as one, they realized she had finished. They rose, chairs scraping across the floor as they hurried to get started. Every single gaze was bright with fresh passion and renewed curiosity, even Dr. Halstrom. This was why they'd signed on to the project—_this_ was why they were still here.

Catherine paused, turning to watch Sam gather her things. She looked pale, and the weight she'd lost was discernible despite the shapeless lab coat. Somehow, though, in the midst of trying to deal with the loss of her Jack, she still managed to provide innovating ideas that put the rest of the team to shame.

General West hasn't wanted to bring Sam on—claimed she was a hot spot of political turmoil he didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. But Catherine had insisted, staking her personal and professional reputation on the young doctor. And Sam had blown away her expectations, and then some.

"What gave you the idea of the constellations?" she asked finally, pulling tired eyes up to hers.

Sam peeled off her lab coat, and swung her purse onto her shoulder. "Something a friend said, actually." Her lips spread into a thin smile, before quickly fading away again. "Catherine, I want to apologize for not being here lately."

"I was the one who told you to take the time, Sam," Catherine returned. She paused. "Did everything work out all right?"

Sam's head shook no. "But I'm still working on it."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"To find Jack? No. But if you could look through your father's personal journals one more time, I think there might have been something that we might have missed, something we didn't realize was important."

Catherine sighed. "Of course. I'll look through everything." It was the least she could do.

"I have somewhere I need to be," Sam continued, apologetic but unwavering. "I'm sorry I can't stay here longer…"

"Go, Sam." Catherine shooed her out the door, a solemn smile twisting her lips. "We'll get things started here."

"Thanks, Catherine." In a whirlwind of motion she disappeared, her harried footsteps echoing down the corridor.

_No, thank you, Sam_, Catherine issued silently. _And good luck__._

* * *

Sam sat in the outdoor café, her posture more relaxed than she felt. She was sure no one had followed her, and that the burn phones Charlie had procured had done the job, but true ease hadn't been within her reach since Jack had disappeared.

About halfway through her glass of sweet tea, a large imposing figure settled across the table from her.

Her lips pulled into a reflexive smile, the familiar face a relief. "Hi, Jared."

At 6'7" with long hair tied back into a ponytail and tattoos inking every inch of his bare arms, Jared Longstreet hardly looked like he could be involved with anything sensitive. Only a select few knew of his reputation as the best listener the CIA had to offer. Sam was one of them, thanks to a long night of tequila years ago.

"Hi, Sam," Jared returned, regarding her with a toothy grin that glinted from between bearded lips. "It was good to hear from you."

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to keep in closer touch," she said. "Things have been…" She trailed off, unable to slap a sufficient label on the chaos that had come to dominate her life.

"Complicated?" Jared supplied helpfully. His eyes sparkled mischievously. "I know."

Sam's eyes narrowed playfully. "You keeping tabs on me?"

"Bah," he scoffed good-naturedly. "Just what most everyone else knows. Congratulations on your doctorate, by the way."

"Thank you. And thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

Jared shrugged. "You kidding? I wouldn't miss an opportunity to catch up. Wild horses, and all that."

This time, the jolly rejoinder was laced with something illicit, reminding Sam that every second he spent with her was another second towards trouble coming down on him from above. He'd taken a huge risk in meeting her.

"Look, Sam, I took the liberty of doing some research. Word is, you're _persona non grata_ as far as the DOD is concerned. You've made too many waves, and they don't want anything to do with you."

Sam blinked, her gaze averting to the surface of the table. They—the Pentagon, Joint Chiefs, the entire Department of Defense— were freezing her out. All because she wanted to save the life of one man. It burned her, infuriated her like nothing else had since her last conversation with her father.

"But unlike most people," Jared continued, cutting through her growing bitterness, "I know why you've been iced. So I did some digging, and I think I found something that might help."

Her gaze flicked up to his, eyes widening. Her fingers tightening on the slick glass of her drink. She said nothing, half-expecting him to change his mind if she said anything.

"There's been some foreign activity in a certain region of Iraq."

Anticipation thrilled up her spine. "You don't say."

Jared's grin turned devilish. "Big Ben has a unit out there. Some of the best Royal Marines her Majesty has to offer. It's a limited engagement, but if you hurry, you might be able to catch them before they leave."

Thank God. That was all she needed. She leaned forward, touching his wrist in soft gratitude. "Thank you," she said softly. "I know you're taking a risk talking to me."

A grin shone back at her. "You're worth it, babe," he delivered, eliciting a laugh from her. "Am I still the only one who can get away with that?"

"Just about," she returned. After a moment, she started moving, tossing a twenty on the table as she stood. "I'm sorry I can't stay, but—"

"I know, gotta move fast," he supplied. "Fly, my pretty."

"I owe you, Jare," she told him, honesty thick in her voice. But he waved her off.

"We'll call it even if you promise me something."

Sam froze, her brow lifting in a curious, but automatically wary arch. "What?"

He grinned. "Next time you're in the market for some new ink, you'll let me do it."

She laughed again, his good nature infectious. "I dunno—Those hands still steady after being at a desk for so long?"

"As a rock," he assured her, lifting a hand as proof.

She smirked, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You're on," she promised. "I wouldn't trust any other hands, and you know it."

"It's a date then," he concurred. He regarded her solemnly. "It's hard to believe you're the hellion who used to hang around my shop six years ago. You've come a long way, Sam," he continued. He squeezed her hand. "I'm glad."

"We've both come a long way," she told him softly.

It definitely felt like it had been a lifetime since she was the angry kid who'd cut class by going to Jared's autoshop. And it was hard for her to imagine that this was the same hard-as-nails chop shop owner she'd run with in her teens. She'd been shocked to learn of his ties to the CIA, but in the end, he'd always been the one who'd taught her everything she knew about engines.

Somewhere along the way, she'd come to know the giant teddy bear lurking beneath all the tattoos, and he had grown to be one of the most trusted friends of her childhood. When her mother died, he'd been the one who let her cry out her heartache. She'd been lucky to have him, and was now luckier still that he continued to consider her a friend.

"Thank you, Jared. For everything."

A paw of a hand waved at her, shooing her along her way. "Get a move on, hot stuff," he urged. "Go get him."


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: This chapter is part of a two-part update. The second installment will be up soon. Either tonight or tomorrow morning. _

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

The phone jangled noisily on its hook, disrupting the peaceful air of the posh London flat that housed it. A mottled white-and-black mastiff lifted its head from the arm of the smoothed leather couch, a grunting whine communicating its curiosity. It was only when a wagging tail smacked a smooth-shaved jaw that the dog's owner rose to his feet with a moan.

"Oh, this had better be good." A long-fingered hand raked threw sleep-tousled hair, the very picture of a man disturbed mid-sleep, despite the fact that it was nearly noon. Bare feet padded across the carpeted floor, nimbly side-stepping Chinese cartons and crumpled napkins strewn across his path. He snatched the phone from the cradle on the very last ring. "Hello…" he answered the call with a yawn.

"Hey, Cal."

Calvin perked up instantly, the familiar voice cutting through the fog of interrupted sleep. "Samantha!" He felt himself grin. It had been a long time since he'd heard from his American friend—far too long. "How are you?"

Unlike others of whom he asked the same question, Calvin attentively listened for her response. He cared for her wellbeing, despite the intervening years since their last shared company. Concern settled over him when her reply was not immediately forthcoming. Sam was always the first to smile a concerned query away—her hesitation communicated her distress more clearly than if she'd shouted it from the rooftops.

"Not so great, actually," came the soft acknowledgment. Her voice was almost shaking, so unlike her natural dulcet tones. "Actually, I need your help."

Calvin didn't even blink. "Name it, Sam," he agreed wholeheartedly. He was no stranger to throwing his name's weight around, but he would take particular pleasure in doing it for his long-time friend. "Anything."

The trans-Atlantic line crackled in his ear when she hesitated, again. Calvin took the time to clear the crusty bits of sleep from his eyes. Surely there was a pot of coffee sitting around here somewhere…

"I need you to reroute the team you have in region XK-Fiver."

Calvin snorted, his breath choking in his lungs as her words took him by surprise. He was awake now, most certainly. Thank the lord she'd called him on a protected line. "I don't know what—"

"Please, Cal... Don't." Her usual edge had returned somewhat; at the current moment, however, Calvin wasn't sure that he appreciated it. "I'm not asking you to. You know what you know, and I know what I know. But I need you to divert your men."

He ran a hand over his jaw, wincing at the sharp stubble that scraped his palm. He considered his options. "And where do you intend for me to send them?" he asked carefully. This was something he'd learned from Samantha Carter herself—gather the information before making the commitment.

"There's a compound in the Southwest corner of the grid," she responded, her tone clipped as she delivered the facts. "I can send you the exact coordinates, but the main thing you need to know is that we have reason to believe that it probably contains heavy ordnance and possible friendlies may be imprisoned there."

Bloody hell. MI6 had been looking for that damn prison for months. The Royal Marines had lost a few men of their own in that particular region—and not just lost. They weren't killed, or ransomed. They didn't turn up in any of the known prisons or POW camps. It was as if the men had simply been misplaced, vanished into the thin air of the desert.

Of course it stood to reason that Samantha Carter was delivering the very grail to him on a silver platter. But even so, accepting such information would not be without risk. "Sam," he said quietly. "You know I can't—"

"Calvin." Her voice was suddenly keen-edged. Like a switchblade.

"Sam."

"You remember that weekend in Monaco?"

A groan burbled up inside of him. Calvin took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "Are you sure you want to cash in those chips, Sam?"

"Those and the rest of the ledger, Cal." Her voice was so deep he could barely hear it. Abstractedly, he thought that this might be the very first time he'd seen the _real _Samantha Carter. That same part of him wondered what it was that could have finally coaxed the timid fawn from its thicket.

"A prison, eh?" He forced a cavalier jaunt into his voice. "What do you suppose we do when we stumble across said compound?"

"Storm the castle," came the swift response. "Recover all personnel and return them to their respective nations."

And there it was. Her reason for bringing him into the picture. "Sam… why isn't your government making their own strike? Your father—"

"My father is out of the picture, Calvin. You of all people should be able to appreciate that." He had nothing to say to that. She was right. But a moment later, her voice softened, and she was Sam—gentle, warm Sam— once more.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "You have every reason to ask, but… my people have helped me all they could and then some, but the government refuses to risk more lives to go after a _possible _lead."

Calvin felt his brows lift of their own accord. He could appreciate a good gamble, but this… "And you think _I_ should?"

A soft sigh came over the line, distant and weary. "Please, Cal…"

Now it was his turn to sigh. And he did. With great emphasis. "Am I looking for someone in particular?" he queried.

"Captain Jonathan O'Neill. United States Air Force. Two L's."

Calvin blinked, committing the name to memory. "Aliases?"

"Jack. That's it."

"Tattoos?"

"None. But he has a surgical scar on the outside of his right knee."

"Safe word?"

A deep breath. "Geordie."

After moment, Calvin nodded, content that he had all the important information. All but one single, overwhelming fact. "Sam…" She didn't respond. He took the opening she offered. "Is he worth it?"

Calvin wasn't stupid. If he acted on the information and his source was ever revealed, his name and career would never recover. But if her government ever discovered that _she_ had been the one to leak such vital information, she would be facing punishment much more stringent. Especially if it was after father stepped down from his second term.

"Yes," she delivered stoutly. Without hesitation or second-guessing. As though she didn't even have to think about it. Samantha Carter—in all the time Calvin had known her—had _never_ not thought about something. "Worth this, and everything else."

That was enough for him. "I'll do what I can, Sam," Calvin vowed. "But I can't make any promises."

He could almost hear her nod vigorously across the line. "I know. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he warned. He groaned, stretching his back out like it was an accordion. "The good news is, if we do move on this, we'll move quickly. I'll contact you as soon as we know anything either way, all right?"

"All right," she agreed calmly. He could hear the relief in her voice, and suddenly he didn't even want to wonder how long she had waited before deciding to ask his help. If she was still as stubborn as she used to be, his guess would be months. Months of agonizing bureaucracy, of paper pushing and number crunching as she tried to convince Washington to go after this O'Neill two-Ls person.

And oh, this guy had _so_ better be worth it.

* * *

Sam closed the phone with a snap, her lips curling into a smile despite the fear still lingering in her gut. She had Cal's promise—that was good as gold. And she trusted him to find Jack, and to bring him home. He would contact her directly, before the official channels were notified; she wouldn't be cut out of the loop by bureaucracy.

The mention of her father had rattled her. So far, no one had mentioned him, urged him to help. A few years ago, she'd have had no problem going swallowing her pride and begging her father to make the rescue happen. But it wasn't her pride that kept her from going to D.C. It was fear.

Because though she'd never say it out loud, a nasty voice slithered inside her head, wondering if maybe all of this was some twisted effort to get him out of her life. Maybe not Jack's capture specifically, but President Carter could have made sure it was Jack's team who went into a hopeless situation, who threw a wrench in the system to make sure a rescue team wasn't sent.

Sam couldn't bear the thought of going there and possibly having her fears her fears confirmed… She couldn't face it. Now she was in deep enough that there was only one direction in which she could reach out for help, and that was deeper in. Reaching up to her father at this point was not an option.

A steadying breath filled her lungs, and she lifted her head to meet Charlie's wide-eyed gaze. She blinked. "What?"

"Was that Calvin, as in… _Prince_ Calvin, Duke of—?" Sam's half-hearted smile was its own affirmation. Charlie groaned a sigh, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "And Monaco…?"

"Oh, you don't wanna know," she told him. "Let's just say he owed me one."

Or a dozen. One crazy weekend spent in a haze of booze, drugs and the kind of trouble that could only be found by over-privileged kids with nothing better to do. She'd gotten pulled along for the ride and had kept the egregious happenings to herself ever since—much to Cal's undying gratitude.

Charlie let it go, thankfully, lifting his hands in silent concession. But then his features turned solemn, the gravity of their situation returning with a heady tension. His eyes met hers, searching for reassurance. "Can he get the job done?"

"He will," she returned confidently. "I know he will."

Charlie nodded, and he leaned back into her couch's cushions with a sigh. Now came the hard part. Sam settled in next to him, close enough that her shoulder and thigh pressed against his. They sat together for several long moments, before his head turned towards hers. He took her hand, offering a gentle squeeze.

"And now we wait," he murmured.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them rise to the surface. There was no place for panic now. Not when they were so close.

Sam nodded, lips thinning into a hollow smile. "Now we wait."


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: Ta-da! Because I'm awesome!_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Jack felt Ferretti lingering in the periphery of his awareness, which alternately bucked and tunneled as he struggled to remain conscious. His last session in interrogation had been brutal, and Jack knew he'd finally let something slip. Something he hoped had been of no use, something meaningless—but he couldn't know for sure. He couldn't remember. He wasn't sure what was memory, what was hallucination. The line between reality and insanity had blurred long ago.

Just before he'd been dragged from his cell, he'd thought he'd seen Sam in his pain-induced haze. She'd hung there, shimmering against a backdrop of mud-brick wall for a tantalizing moment before she'd vanished into the ether.

His physical pain had paled in contrast to the flame of hope that had been snuffed out as suddenly as it had sparked. If he'd sobbed then, he wouldn't be surprised. Luckily, if he had, Ferretti gave him the courtesy of not mentioning it.

Now Jack hovered along of the edge of consciousness, with Ferretti's voice a steady background noise that urged him to remain awake. Today was a story about fishing with his grandfather when he was nine or ten. The highlight of the trip hadn't been the fish, but rather the stories of the geezer's old war days. It had been his Gramps' stories that had inspired Ferretti to join up, the Lieutenant claimed.

_Fishing._ Jack remembered fishing. It never was about the fish, was it? It certainly hadn't been when he and Sam had last visited the cabin. That trip after his commission seemed so long ago. A lifetime ago, before he'd gotten lost in this mess. And not just the prison—but in the darkness that had come with his chosen line of work.

He'd been so convinced that this was the best way he could do the most good. It was not something everyone could do—it came down to a select few, and he had a knack for it. That had been enough. Seeing Sam doing what she loved had inspired him to do more, but now he knew better. It hadn't been worth losing her.

Ferretti's voice slowly faded away, and the dusky shafts sunlight creeping through the cracks in their cell door faded into the swirling darkness that swallowed his vision. He was losing his tenuous hold on survival, and oddly, his only regret was the promise he broke.

He wouldn't come home to Sam. He knew that now. He'd tried, gave it one hell of a try. But, a small voice inside him acknowledged that maybe Ferretti's life was a decent trade-off. The Lieutenant would have that much more of a chance to get rescued.

Air settled heavily in his lungs, thick and syrupy. His pulse pounded, loud enough that he could hear it slowing. The pain was dulling, falling away from him like a dried up husk. Finally, there was nothing but peace.

_Don't worry, Sam… whatever comes next, I'll wait for you._

Suddenly, shouts thundered through the prison halls, reverberating with the force of a gunshot. Jack's eyes flew open, to a tiny crack he couldn't see anything through. _Oh, wait_—those were real gunshots. And the shouting… there was English mixed in with the Arabic. Doors were being kicked down on either side of their cell, and before they could so much as call out, their own door exploded inwards.

The shouts became nothing but blurring sounds, to the point that Jack couldn't tell if they were speaking English or not. It was loud, too loud. Ferretti' voice mingled with theirs, proclaiming their American citizenship. Jack thought to lift his head; his skull was filled with lead, too heavy to lift on his own.

Eventually things calmed—or else he was slipping farther into the abyss. But then a shape crouched over him, peering at the grime- and blood-smeared dog tag stuck to his bare chest. Jack could just make out the irregular silhouette of a shadowy human head above him.

"Captain Jack O'Neill?"

Jack blinked in surprise. His throat worked instinctively, but it was Ferretti who answered for him. "That's Jack O'Neill."

A gloved hand settled on his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, Captain," the man said. The voice was British—Jack could tell for sure now. "I'm Major Michael Trenton, and we're going to get you home."

_Home._ No way. He was hallucinating. Or he was in some twisted version of hell.

The wraith's hand patted his shoulder. Felt real. "I gotta say, Captain… you must have friends in some very high places…"

That was all he heard as he finally lost the battle to unconsciousness. But his last thought was of Sam. She'd done it. Somehow. This was her doing.

He still wasn't sure he wasn't dead, but if he was, Jack knew he was going to heaven, if he was going home to her.

* * *

Sam's control had finally slipped. For months she had been resolute, stoic and steadfast in the face of an insurmountable challenge. There had been moments when she'd almost been overwhelmed, but never had she been so conspicuously nervous. Charlie watched her pace, her steps audible against the hardwood. A half-finished chess game lay abandoned on the coffee table; she'd been too agitated to finish, which he was grateful for. His own concentration was shot to hell.

As more days had passed since the call made to her British friend, she'd remained within arm's reach of the phone. Sam was eager for that phone call, though Charlie knew she was equally dreading what the call might tell her. When it finally came, nearly a week after hanging up with Calvin, Sam's pacing slammed to a halt as she scrambled for the handset.

"Hello?" The sob that had been sitting in her chest for the past week turned her voice raspy, squeaking ever so slightly on the final vowel.

Charlie stood, seeing her features twist in recognition of the voice on the other end. This was it. This was the moment they would know for sure. His heart jolted when a shaky gasp escaped her.

"You…" Her voice caught. "Is he…?"

A beat passed, and then the phone slipped from her fingers. It clacked against the hardwood, and Sam's knees buckled, sobs exploding from her chest as her hands pressed tightly over her mouth. Charlie caught her, easing her to the floor until she'd collapsed against his chest.

He reached blindly for the phone, and heard the tinny voice on the other end. "Sam? Sam!"

"Where is Captain O'Neill?" he asked softly. He couldn't speak of his fear that they would be bringing a pine box home.

"He's been transported to Ramstein," an aristocratic voice responded. Charlie's eyes closed, pressing tight against the tears burning behind his lids. He pulled Sam close, squeezing her shoulders as they shook with tears.

Ramstein was the predominant U.S. Air Force base in Europe. It was a haven for many injured soldiers abroad, and a stepping stone on the way home for many a returning veteran. Ramstein meant medical facilities, medical _treatment_.

Jack was alive. _Thank God._

Charlie took a deep breath. "We'll be on the next flight out."

"Arrangements have been made for Sam to see him as soon as she arrives. Will you be accompanying her?"

He glanced sideways at the woman in his arms. "Yes."

"Understood. You'll be met by Major Trenton. He'll make sure you get where you need to go."

Charlie nodded, conscious of Sam trembling against him. "Thank you."

He hung up, setting the phone aside to wrap his second arm around her. "He's alive," she whispered, her voice hitching with every breath. "Charlie, he's…"

"I know," he murmured. Her hair was soft under his palm as he cupped the back of her head, holding her to him. He held her like that for several long minutes, until she calmed enough that she could draw breath without launching into a fresh wave of tears again.

Finally, he pulled back, tipping her chin up to meet her watery gaze with a soft upturn of his lips.

"Let's go get him."


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: Okay, I know I hinted at a weekend update, and I fully intended to post one, but a block hit, and I wanted to save updates in case it lasted a while. So tonight I'm doing a two-part update to make up for it. This is the first part. _

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

The halls of Ramstein Medical were crisp and sterile, colored a muted mint green that emoted a hollow sense of comfort. The rooms they passed on their way to the ICU were filled to brimming with men and women who lay bandaged on impersonal hospital beds.

Sam fairly vibrated as she kept pace beside Charlie. He noticed the way her eyes studiously avoided looking into the rooms, no doubt unnerved at the sight of bandaged stumps and features obscured by swathes of gauze. Until she saw for herself the state Jack was in, Charlie suspected she wouldn't give herself any more fodder with which to imagine the worst.

He said nothing, but took her hand in comfort. Blue eyes glanced up at him, wide and tear-filled. Her fingers tightened, their grip betraying her anxiety in spite of all her outward calm. Her panicked relief had reduced to a tight simmer following her outburst at her apartment, her tears abating enough to make the journey across the Atlantic.

Together, they turned the corner, and Sam's hand pulled from his when she saw the tall, sharply dressed man standing guard at the end of the corridor. Charlie let her surge forward, respectfully hanging back as she flung her arms around the neck of the Royal Marine.

"Cal…" her voice was low. "Thank you."

The Englishman's eyes cursorily flicked over to Charlie, who stood briskly at attention. No salutes were exchanged—their meeting was a personal one.

"I owe you," Sam continued, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

A neatly trimmed head of curly hair shook in disagreement. "Not this time, Sam. That strike recovered several of our own men," he confessed. "Unofficially, the British government owes you a debt of gratitude."

Her cheeks flushed at his words, her chin ducking. "Calvin…"

"But as grateful as we may be, you know that if your government ever finds out how we received the information…"

"I know," Sam interrupted his warning with a nod. "I knew that going in. But it was worth it."

Calvin's thin lips curled into a knowing smile. "I beginning to gather that," he clipped, giving her arm a squeeze. "Now go. Your Captain's waiting."

Sam gave him one last nod of gratitude, before smoothly dipping into the room Calvin indicated. She left the two men standing in the hall, staring after her before they turned to regard one another. Kawalsky nodded at him, a muted show of his own gratitude.

"Samantha has always put others before herself," Calvin observed meaningfully. His eyes traveled to the room she'd entered, even and pensive. "I only hope this man deserves her."

The man's gaze lifted to Charlie's, who understood the unspoken question. His chin lifted. "You'd never know it to hear him tell it," he delivered. "He doesn't have much, but what he does, he gives all of it to her."

Jack offered himself—all of the love he was capable of giving, all the room in his heart… He gave it to her. And Sam knew it; she said it was what had drawn them together when she was still in D.C. He'd had no expectations of her, hadn't talked to her like she was on a presidential pedestal. Of course, she'd later learned it was because he hadn't made the connection, but even when he finally did, he only ever looked at her like he was the luckiest man in the world.

By giving all of himself, it was easy to give all of herself in return—something she hadn't been able to do with anyone else. Not with this guy Calvin, not with anyone else.

Calvin gave an approving smile. "That's a start…"

Their eyes met, and an accord was struck. Silent and swift, two men bonded in their concern for Samantha Carter. Kawalsky nodded, and Calvin returned it before turning sharply on his heel and striding away. Taking a moment to collect himself, Charlie moved to follow Sam, but stopped halfway through the door. Instinct made him pause, somehow sensing that this was a moment he shouldn't intrude on.

Taking a breath, he glanced one last time at Sam's still form at the bedside. Silently, he stepped back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Samantha froze at the sterile bedside, eyes glued to the bulky, unnaturally still frame of Jack O'Neill. The blanket fell over him awkwardly, disfigured by odd lines and the sharp lines of a body starved for nutrition. One side of his face was ruddy with sun damage, the other swollen and darkened by a vivid purpling bruise.

Her breath leaked from her in a slow release—the relief she'd ben waiting for never came. Tension remained coiled in her chest, leaving her whole body acheing and quivering with restrained tears. It was finally real. There was no more wordless hope that he'd simply gotten separated from his unit and taken in by a kind local family. There was no more suspicion that maybe, just maybe, reports of Jack's death had been a cover for some other, more secret mission he'd been sent on.

There would be no fairytale ending where he strolled into her office and swooped her up in his arms with the fanfare of a returning veteran.

Jack had been tortured. The vicious truth of it was staring up at her rom the hospital bed. Jack had endured unspeakable abuse, acts she instantly banished from her mind. She couldn't think about it. Because if she did, she would realize that he had endured all of it because she'd made him promise. Because she'd been selfish enough to exact an oath from him she'd had no right to demand.

She could have spared him this.

With quivering lips she leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his brow. He smelled of soap and antiseptic, as though the clean scents could obscure the horrors visited upon his body.

"It's okay," she whispered, as much a promise to herself as it was meant to reassure him, if he could even hear. "You're safe." Her chin dipped, bringing her forehead to rest against his.

Tears slipped down her cheek, splashing to pieces against his tarnished skin.

"I'm here, Jack."


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: So, FF reared it's ugly head and got the updates messed up. Somehow this chapter's material got mixed up with last chapter, so some of you may read it twice. Sorry! But this is how it was supposed to go. Last chapter has been fixed to its intended state as well, so if it's changed from its original reading, that's why._

_Enjoy, for real this time! :)  
_

* * *

Jack woke with a low, cottony buzz sounding in his ears. He blinked, wincing at the sharp overhead lights. Huh. He'd changed cells.

The memory of his rescue returned slowly, punctuated with interspersed flashes of ghostly pain that cut through the haze of drugs. There was other stuff—the disorienting pull of a plane taking off with him in it, the soft caress of cottony sheets against his skin. He remembered hearing voices.

He'd been happy to hear one in particular, the same one that had kept him company for however long it had been since he'd been left behind. _Sam_. She was here.

His body jerked, but the reflex was so sluggish it was little more than a twitch. The weight he felt on his right hand didn't budge, and his heart lurched in panic. A quick glance later, his panic melted into relief when he recognized the blonde head using his hand as a pillow.

All Jack could see was the top of her head, her features obscured by a curtain of blonde hair. Her ribs expanded and contracted in a gentle cadence as she breathed, peaceful despite her rumpled clothes and mussed hair. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His heart rate spiked, resulting in a harried staccato of beeps to emanate from his heart monitor.

A flash of motion drew his attention to his left, where a shadowed figure stood vigil by the room's only window. The dark silhouette stepped forward into the light, and Jack instantly recognized the face of his friend.

"She fell asleep a few hours ago," Kawalsky said, his voice even and measured despite the tumultuous emotions clouding his gaze. "You took too long in waking up."

Jack blinked. He debated answering, but ultimately decided his waning energy was better focused on Sam. His gaze returned to the shock of blonde hair glistening in the fluorescent lamps. He wished his fingers would curl around hers, to let her know he was all right, but they refused to cooperate.

"How long?" He barely got the words out. His throat was a cluster of sandpaper and broken glass, but he had to know. Jack heard Charlie hesitate, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"Four months."

Jesus. Only that long? Felt like four years.

Jack never thought he'd get to see her again. In the desert, he'd clung to the knowledge that he would get home, somehow, and that he would be able to kiss away her tears of relief. But looking at Sam now, and feeling the electric jolt of shock at realizing he really had made it, Jack realized that on some level, he had accepted the cold, hard truth. He'd known that he would die in that pit.

His lids drooped against his will, exhaustion staking its claim on him once more. No—he wanted to stay, he wanted to see her wake. Jack wanted to be there when she came to and realized that she wasn't dreaming. Because it was real—he ached too much for it to be a hallucination.

Drifting off, he barely registered Charlie's words as he spoke.

"She never gave up on you, Jack." The voice distorted, deepening in Jack's sleep-distorted senses. "Even when the world told her to let you go, she kept searching."

Warmth spread through him, the knowledge settling gladly in his heart.

"She brought you home."

* * *

The next time his eyes opened, sunlight cascaded through the open blinds of the window, and his hand was freed. Well, kind of. It was no longer Sam's pillow, but her hand was still tight on his fingers. His eyes traveled up the length of her arm, along her shoulder and neck until he was sinking into watery blue eyes. Her fingers tightened on his, as though the electric shock he felt had traveled through their point of contact and zapped her too. She blinked, releasing the tears that were hovering on her lashes. Lips quivering, she tried to smile, no doubt to reassure him, make him more at ease. Apparently, she didn't realize that the feel of her hand in his was more than enough to do that.

"Hey…" Her voice was strangled, cracking on the single word. Her chin lifted, eyes rolling as she blinked back her brimming tears. But she couldn't keep her gaze from him for long. Blue eyes returned to him a moment later, wide and stormy with relief, heartache, and love. She was shaking.

Jack tugged on her hand, head twitching a come-hither. "C'mere."

Sam's features twisted, her veneer of control crumbling. A sob escaped her with a gasp, but she came without protest. She tried to be gentle, tried not to crush him—Jack wasn't so careful. His arms wrapped around her, tightening until she collapsed against him, their bodies pressing together through the soft blankets.

She was so warm, so real. Tears burned behind his eyes, and when he felt his shoulder become damp beneath Sam's cheek, his own spilled over. A million things to say flashed across his mind.

_Thank you._

_It's going to be all right. _

_I love you. _

He didn't say any of them. He couldn't, past the lump in his throat. He simply closed his eyes and held her, and let the truth wash over him.

He was home.


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Yet another weekend without extra posts. *sigh* Don't worry. I'm still plugging away. In the meantime..._

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Sam didn't leave the hospital. They'd provided her with quarters on base, a place to sleep and shower and eat a decent meal. But she refused to use it, instead sweet-talking the nurses into letting her use their locker room to take care of herself, and commandeering the uncomfortable bedside recliner for her nightly rest. Well, on the nights she decided to rest.

Many nights she spent up with Jack, whose shock and drug therapy wreaked havoc on his sleep schedule. If he was awake, she usually was as well, save for the rare moments that Jack awoke after she'd nodded off, and did his damnedest to keep quiet so she could get a decent rest.

Between the two of them, they were a hot mess. But, they were a hot mess together, and despite their respective issues, they'd become the most loved couple of patients on the ward. The nurses and orderlies went out of their way to stop by, even if it was just to check in and say hello.

It was more than a week before they ran into their first roadblock. Charlie was there, a quiet presence standing guard when the on-duty nurse came in to change Jack's bandages. Within seconds, it became evident to all that it was the first time Jack was awake for the process. The nurse was nice enough, as far as nurses went, but when she asked if Sam wanted to step outside, Jack blinked.

"Why? It's nothing she hasn't seen before."

"Actually…" Sam hedged, shifting in her seat. "I don't…" She paused, suddenly nervous. "They didn't tell me anything specific. All I know is that you're okay," she delivered softly. "Anything else… anything else I'll know when you're ready to tell me."

Jack's throat tightened. He'd been okay with Sam knowing the damage that had been done. She hadn't communicated anything besides relief that he was safe—there hadn't been a single glimmer of judgement or disgust. He hadn't thought anything of it.

But now, suddenly faced with the task of telling her what had happened, what had been done to him—his throat closed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't face the pity that would soften her gaze, or the prospect of being a victim in her eyes.

Her hand found his, squeezing it gently as she rose to her feet. "I'll wait outside," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Before Jack could say anything, she'd slipped out of the room, with Charlie trailing along behind her.

Jack nearly shivered at her sudden absence. Like someone had trailed an ice cube down his spine. But he swallowed his discomfort, and resisted the urge to call her back in. The nurse got to work, making short work of peeling the soiled bandages away from his skin. It hurt when she started to flush the wounds, but it was minimal under the haze of heavy medication that was still being fed through his IV.

His thoughts drifted as the nurse worked her magic. He would have to tell Sam eventually, he knew that. There was no way he could hide it from her forever. And Jack trusted her. She wouldn't judge him. She wouldn't love him any less. But shame still burned hot under his skin, even as the nurse worked with professional detachment. The nurse knew. The nurse knew exactly what his tormentors had done to him.

And just that one person knowing kept the shame burning inside him.

* * *

Charlie left the room, keeping close to Sam as she stood stiffly down the hallway, out of sight from the room. Her arms wrapped around herself, as though to ward off a sudden chill. His hand briefly touched the small of her back, soothing her when he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

"He won't push you away," Charlie said gently. "He may not be able to say so yet, but he needs you."

Her lips curled into a smile that was appreciative, but hollow. "I know," she returned. "But I won't be in that room until Jack says he's ready. He needs his control back, and if I'm going to be the first step to getting him there, then so be it." But even as she made her declaration, her shoulders slumped. A sigh escaped her. "If not me, then who else?"

It bothered her to be out of the loop; Charlie could see it in the lines drawn deep into her features. But Sam was nothing if not gracious. If it helped Jack recover, then she would gladly set her own needs aside. Charlie knew it was something Jack needed now, and would continue to need in the course of his healing, but he hoped that she wouldn't come to suffer for it.

"There's a coffee vendor downstairs," Charlie told her, drawing her attention from what was going on in the room behind them. "Can I get you anything?"

She sighed, visibly grateful for the distraction. "Sure, thanks. A chai tea would be great."

Charlie left her to her own devices, and she took the opportunity to travel down the corridor towards the waiting room. Halfway there she paused, torn between the knowledge she needed to learn to maintain distance and the desire to stay close. Just in case Jack needed her.

Furthermore, she could hear the murmur of voices coming from the sitting area. Sam didn't feel like interacting with anyone at the moment. They'd be nothing but questions she'd refuse to answer, and dear god, if anyone recognized her she'd flip her lid. She felt like she was walking tight-rope, and a single misstep would send her sailing off either side of it.

Her thoughts were busy whirring away when Sam felt a presence step up behind her. A throat cleared, and Sam spun at the sound, hackles raising ever higher when she recognized the looming silhouette. Fury sparked instantly. She glared at the man before her, spitting fire as she deliberately put herself between him and Jack's room.

"What are _you_ doing here?"


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: Here's a little short one. Because I love you guys. :) Enjoy!_

* * *

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Sam didn't bother trying to disguise the accusation. Anger rose high in her throat, and only her clenched fists kept her hands from shaking in fury.

Major Frank Cromwell met her gaze squarely, unashamed and unapologetic. He only straightened, relying on old-fashioned military bearing to forge ahead in the face of her ire.

"I came to pay Captain O'Neill a visit," he said. Sam didn't respond; at least he had the guts to not beat around the bush. "I came as soon as I got word he'd been moved out of the ICU."

Sam glared at him, unable to hide her disgust. A dozen catty things to say ran through her mind. After all, it was no thanks to him that Jack was recovering in a hospital. The man seemed earnest enough now, but it didn't change the fact that his efforts, his help, would have been more useful in trying to bring Jack home.

But no—that had fallen to her. Only Charlie had been there to back her up, and to put her back on her feet when she stumbled. Not this man, not the person to whom Jack had entrusted his life and wellbeing.

"I see," Sam delivered finally.

Frank's features remained solemn, but open. Honest. "Ma'am," he said softly, "I understand you don't like me much—I'm having a hard time liking myself these days. But please believe me when I say I'd like to check in on one of my men, and see how he's doing."

She could refuse him. Sam suspected he would honor her decision, even if she told him to not come back. And she really didn't want Jack to see him—Jack had been doing relatively well. He almost seemed like his old self.

Seeing Cromwell could open a Pandora's box of bad feelings and horrific memories for Jack, and while Sam knew the box would inevitably open regardless of what happened today, she'd hoped to get him home, somewhere familiar, before it did.

She chewed her lip for a moment more, then made her decision.

"I won't keep him from you," she said, voice firm enough that there would be no room for debate. "But I won't force you on him, either. I'll ask him, and if he says no, you'll leave."

It was her only condition, and one she would not compromise on. Jack's welfare came first, and if the Major threatened it she would make sure he never commanded another man again.

Major Cromwell nodded his acceptance.

"Wait here," she instructed. She began to walk away, eyeing him over her shoulder to watch for any indication that he would follow. When he didn't budge, she let herself fully enter the room.

* * *

Jack looked up at Sam's entrance, instantly forgetting the nurse cleaning up the bandage trimmings. He immediately registered the lines of displeasure in her features before she had the mind to smooth them away.

"What's wrong?" he asked, tension creeping over him. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, one that ached deep into his bones— just as it had for the past four months.

Something akin to shock flitted across her features at his question, as though startled that he'd read her so easily. "Nothing's wrong."

He fought the urge to call her bluff, but held his tongue. She might not be worried, he told himself. It could just be surprise, or a puzzle she'd stumbled on. She got that way, sometimes.

She perched on the edge of the bedside chair, taking his hand in hers. Her other hand reached up to tuck a cascade of blonde hair behind her ear. Jack watched the light play across the strands, igniting the shades of gold within the lock.

"Frank Cromwell is here," she said softly. Blue eyes met Jack's, as though sensing the jolt of surprise that shook him to his core. She held his gaze unwaveringly, a solid support as she gently squeezed his hand. "Do you want to see him?"

Her choice of phrasing wasn't lost on him. She could've referred to his CO as Major Cromwell, which might have suggested that as his subordinate, Jack owed it to the man to see him. And she hadn't mentioned that Frank wanted to see him, removing the possibility that he'd be guilted into seeing the man.

She'd made it about Jack, put the ball entirely in his court. Sam was slick, and at the moment he was grateful for it. But he still couldn't answer. What was he supposed to say? It wasn't that he didn't want to see the Major. He did. He wanted answers. And at the same time, he didn't. The idea of actually getting his answers scared the crap out of him.

And on top of all that… he was angry.

Sam saw his hesitation, read the war playing out within his thoughts. A twitch of her fingers pulled his eyes to hers, and though he didn't say a word, she had her answer.

"All right," she acknowledged softly, rising to her feet once more. "I'll take care of it." She leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then disappeared as smoothly as water.

For a moment, Jack imagined the scene playing out beyond his range of vision, wondered if he could hear the murmuring voice of his CO. But then he realized he didn't want to. He didn't want to see the pity in the eyes of the man who had left him to die.

Anger burned dark in his gut, butting through the last vestiges of the relief that still lingered. He'd felt so light, nearly giddy at the realization he was alive, with Sam at his side. But now the elation had faded, leaving him with the leaden knowledge that all was not well. He was alive, but he wasn't healed. Part of him was still out in the desert somewhere, and it was Frank Cromwell's fault.


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: Here's a new update. It seems I've finally busted through that darn block. And about time, too, am I right?_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The rest of Jack's hospital stay passed in a blur. It happened so quickly, he could hardly believe it really happened. Cromwell didn't try to visit again. Jack didn't hear a word from him after Sam assured him she'd take care of it. Kawalsky had stuck around for only a few more days after that before he was called to duty.

A surge of jealousy had risen in Jack's gut at the sight of Sam giving Charlie a tender hug goodbye. He didn't hear the words she uttered softly to the man, and could only wonder what might have developed between the two of them in his absence. Charlie had once said it wouldn't be a problem, but that had been when Jack had been there to ward him off. But now he had months of unrestricted access to a beautiful, vulnerable Samantha Carter. Who knew what had happened?

Jack's common sense roared into action then, dispelling the dark cloud with a swift breath. Charlie was a good man. It was why he'd entrusted Sam to him in the first place, why Jack had made Charlie swear to take care of her. He'd only done he'd promised, and then some in helping bring him home. And even if some part of Jack's mind couldn't trust Charlie, he trusted Sam. Completely.

Luckily, he didn't have much time in the hospital to let his misgivings marinate. Barely a week after Charlie's departure, Sam flew with Jack back to the States. There they spent a night at the Academy Hospital, and then they were home, back to Sam's townhouse with the russet front door and matching shutters.

Within days, Jack realized that being home was a bitter blessing. He was glad to be out of the hospital. He didn't miss the constant checking in of the nurses and doctors, and he sure as hell felt less vulnerable without the breeze between his legs that was characteristic of hospital gowns. And judging by the bliss that softened Sam's features as she laid in a proper bed, and her own to boot, he knew she was glad to be home too.

The cool climate was a distinct change from the scorching sizzle of the desert, but even the chill wasn't enough to cut through the haze surrounding Jack. There was a disassociation, a buffer between himself and the rest of the world. He was fit enough to go outside, but he didn't. He could take walks, breathe the fresh air of a turning autumn, but he didn't.

He stayed indoors, making a sedate rotation of bed to couch to armchair to bed again. He told himself he was comfortable, but Jack couldn't shake the feeling that he was a stranger in Sam's home, awkward as he zombied his way through the motions of a normal day. Wake up, hug Sam, medicate, eat breakfast, sit on the couch, eat lunch, sit on the chair, eat dinner, go to bed, sleep. Again and again.

The only stutter came when Sam's work called one day, asking for her help. She'd hesitated, her gaze flicking to Jack. Resentment had bubbled up inside him; he didn't need to be babied. And he certainly didn't need Sam to be waiting on him hand and foot. She had her own life, and in that moment it became abundantly clear to Jack that she had put that life on hold while he was missing.

"Go," he'd said. "I'll still be here when you get back."

And he was, however many hours later it was, still sitting on the couch in front of a dark television set.

In the days that followed, Sam tried to get him out and about. He resisted at every turn. She always seemed to sense when he'd reached his limit of patience, never pushing too far. He both loved and hated her for it. Part of him welcomed the peace, but part of him wished she'd just kick his ass into gear.

But that wasn't her job—Jack knew it. And the result was that Sam hovered, flitting like a hummingbird from him to chore to her work and back, never really settling anywhere, and certainly never settled close to him like she used to. As much as she tried to hide it, she was afraid she'd break him. She never treated him as less than himself, but he resented how her wariness made _her_ less than herself.

Their first breakthrough of sorts came on a midweek morning. Sam wasn't scheduled to go in to the mountain, and the house was as clean as it humanly could be, leaving them both with nothing to do but look at anything but each other. Sam was keeping herself busy cleaning the last of the breakfast dishes, facing the sink as she scrubbed away. Jack glanced out the window, and saw the turning colors of the leaves.

So much time had passed. Between his service and his stint as a captive he'd lost almost the entire year. He hadn't so much as gone on a walk with Sam since March. He'd barely been home for more than a day or two at a time. He'd had everything he needed right here, and he'd let the time slip through his fingers. Idiot.

"Jack?" Sam's voice broke into his thoughts like a knife, sharpened further by its gentleness.

Jack snapped. "_What?_"

To her credit, Sam didn't jump at his bark. She barely blinked, but she blushed in reaction, and guilt immediately soured Jack's mood even further.

"D'you want to watch some t.v.?"

In their first week home they'd determined that daytime television was a wasteland of soap operas and infomercials. While Jack would admit to being starved for entertainment, he wasn't quite_ that_ desperate.

"You got something in mind?" he hedged warily. It was doubtful Sam was any bigger fan of the soaps than he was, but he knew better than to risk committing to something he might later regret.

She perched on the arm of the couch, near enough to be close, but still achingly far enough from him to keep him from reaching out to pull her even nearer.

"There's a show I found, just after you got your first assignment. I thought it might be something you'd like, so I recorded some of it for you." Her flush deepened, her lips twisting in a self-effacing grimace. "Well, more like I recorded all of it, actually."

Jack blinked. Um… Okay. "Suuure…"

Jack took up his usual spot on the couch, pulling a well-used afghan over his legs and bare toes. Sam queued up the recording, then slid onto the cushion next to him, pausing only a moment before gently maneuvering herself beneath the blanket with him. She nimbly pressed play, and fixed her eyes to the screen as it clicked into life. Jack reluctantly turned his attention to the set as well, only to swallow a moan when the opening theme started whistling from the speakers. A cartoon?

He deploys on his first mission, and suddenly the brilliant and independent Samantha Carter reverts back to watching cartoons? Unbelievable.

By episode two, though, Jack was eating the words he'd wisely kept to himself. He laughed at Bart's fart jokes, chuckled at Homer's numbskull shenanigans, and best of all he felt Sam giggling against his chest, where she had snuggled up to him somewhere between Bart's first skateboard trick and the family's run-in with the Bible-thumping neighbors. He could barely believe it.

Who knew The Simpsons would be the thing to bring a taste of normalcy back into his life?


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: Good news! I've busted through my block! I've been churning out chapters like crazy! I'm not going to go overboard with updates and get myself in trouble, but I will post this one in celebration._

_Enjoy! Woohoo!_

* * *

Sam shifted in her sleep, hovering in the netherworld between slumber and waking for a long moment. She floated, slowly becoming aware.

Something had changed.

She reached out and found the space next to her empty and cold. The information was absorbed without comprehension, and she drifted off towards sleep once more before she froze.

_Jack. _

She bolted upright, panic icy in her veins. Her first instinct was to call out, but her throat locked up, strangling her into silence. _No. No, no! _

Tearing free from the sheets tangling around her legs, Sam launched from the bed, her feet barely touching the carpet as she flew from the room. A glance at the dark upstairs hall drove her fear home, blasting through the lump in her throat.

"_Jack_!" She rushed down the stairs, palm squealing against the banister as she went. "Jack!"

Sam hit the hardwood with too much speed and she slid until a dark figure stepped out of the shadows. A shriek scraped from her vocal cords as she collided with a solid chest. Arms flailing, she struggled against the arms holding her tight, terrified until she recognized the voice trying to calm her, felt the heartbeat beating against Jack's ribs.

"Sam, Sam! It's me!" He reached out to flip on the overhead lamp, and light blazed through the darkness. Brown eyes searched hers, gleaming in alarm. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Sam stumbled back a step, chest burning with panic and exertion. He let her, but kept his hands on her shoulders. The warm contact pulled her further from her haze, and Sam felt her heart start to slow. She reached up, grasping his wrist tightly. His skin was soft, scorching under her own chilled fingers. Swallowing heavily, she fought to control her breathing.

A quick scan told her that Jack was visibly fine. No cuts, no new bruises to join the ones yellowing around his eye. Nothing bleeding, nothing broken. He was alive. His pulse thrummed beneath her fingertips, reassuringly steady despite its quickened pace, no doubt a result of her cry.

"Sam? What happened?" Jack pleaded.

"N-nothing…" Sam blinked, hating the stammer that caught at the word. She shook her head, trying to hide the blur of tears in her eyes. Another step back gave her the distance she needed to make something up. "I, uh, I was just coming down for a drink."

To prove her point she padded into the kitchen, busying herself with pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water straight from the tap. The bitter taste of fluorine reminded her that she'd put a filtered carafe in the fridge just last night. Too late now. She gulped the tepid water, trying not to feel Jack's eyes boring into her back. As if he couldn't see straight through her thin attempt at a brush-off.

* * *

Jack stepped jerkily up to the island that stood between him and Sam. He'd been woken three hours by a violent nightmare, one from which he'd come out swinging. Even now, his throat still felt raw, like he'd been screaming in his sleep. It had been a miracle that Sam hadn't woken then; he'd quickly gathered himself up and out of bed before his quaking limbs could rouse her.

It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But this was the only time, to his knowledge, that Sam had risen from a nightmare of her own. "Sam…"

His attempt to bring her attention back to him was answered by the faucet turning on once more, refilling her glass. He saw her hand shaking, belying her distress. He approached her, reaching out to put a hand on her hunched shoulder.

"Sam, please… Talk to me."

Her head tilted, her long hair shifting against her back. She was on the verge of telling him to go fly a kite. When Samantha Carter said she was fine, she was fine. But apparently she'd forgotten that he could read her like an open book.

He slid his hand down her arm, tugging ever so gently on her elbow to turn her towards him. His heart broke at the sight of the tears in her eyes. "Samantha, c'mon…"

"I thought you were gone," she said, wiping at the tears starting to spill. "I woke up, and the bed was empty, and—I thought—I thought this had all been a dream. That you were still gone and I… and I was…"

That she was still alone. Sam didn't say it, but Jack could see it written all over her features. The bright edginess in her eyes, the lips twisted in fear. Between the loss of her mother, of Geordie, her broken family… It was a miracle she hadn't cracked yet. And on top of all that, he'd nearly left her too.

His throat seized. "C'mere." He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

She came with a sniffle, burrowing her face against his neck. Her tears were hot against his skin, her hands digging into the back of his shirt in desperation, clinging. "I'm here, Sam," he murmured softly, stroking her hair. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

But even as he tried to comfort her, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe she'd be better off if he did disappear.

* * *

A few mornings later, Sam paused in her routine of getting ready for work. Seeing her turn towards him across the counter, Jack set aside his coffee and met her gaze. She was so hesitant, so nervous that his teeth ground together. Sam wasn't hesitant. She didn't used to be. Now she was hesitant, but only around him.

"Jack…" She paused, and Jack felt impatience steal over him. He shifted uncomfortably, hoping to hide his displeasure. "Have you, um… Have you thought about seeing someone?"

"Someone like who?" _That's right, O'Neill, play it dumb_. As if he didn't know she meant 'someone' like a shrink. Someone who would ask him about he'd seen, what he'd done, what had been done _to _him.

The idea of spilling his guts to a stranger—to _anyone_—made him want to vomit. The only thing keeping him from doing so was Sam's continued efforts to verbalize.

"Ummm… You know, a psychiatrist. A professional—"

"Do _you_ think I need to see a shrink?" He'd intended it as an honest question, but it shot out from his mouth like a bullet from a gun, a sharp accusation that took her aback. _Turn the tables on her. _Anything to pull her focus away from her. If she looked too hard, she wouldn't like what she saw.

"What?" She pulled back, shifting uneasily. "I—no, Jack, that's not what I meant—"

"Then how did you mean it?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down at the countertop. One finger traced a lonely pattern against the marble. "I noticed you haven't been sleeping well. That's all."

"It's the meds," he lied crisply. "They make it hard to sleep, okay?"

Sam blinked, her lips pressing into a pale, thin line. She was trying hard not to cry. Guilt flooded Jack at the realization, washing away his terror-induced temper. He sighed.

"Look, Sam, I—"

"I'm going to be late," she said quickly. Jack glanced at the clock, and saw she was still an hour early. "I have to go."

"Sam, wait—"

But she was already gone, escaping through the front door with her bag slung hastily over her shoulder. The door shut behind her, leaving Jack alone in a house that was suddenly chill.

_Dammit._ What the hell was wrong with him?

He knew what was wrong. He was still there, still in the desert. Every time he opened his eyes he had to convince himself that Sam was real, that he wasn't simply hallucinating. He was trying to be someone he wasn't—someone he used to be, but couldn't manage to be anymore. It was all he could do to keep Sam from joining him in his nightmare. But if he wasn't careful, he'd push her away so far he'd lose her for good.


	29. Chapter 29

_**A/N: This chapter is rated M for violence. Please read or avoid accordingly, per personal preference.**  
_

* * *

_The air pressed hotly against Jack's neck. Pain, his constant friend, sat heavy in his limbs. He cast a tired look around his cell. He was alone, Ferretti nowhere to be found. Alarm flared within him for a brief moment before it disappeared, only to be replaced by cool acceptance. It was just as well. Better the kid be dead than stuck here._

_Footsteps echoed somewhere down the corridor, coming closer and closer. Dread gripped him, making his heart race—they were coming for him. He'd barely survived his last go-round, already told them everything. What more could they pull screaming from his lips?_

_The door swung open, admitting a wave of stink and death that made Jack's stomach turn. What did they want? There was nothing else they could take from him. He had nothing left to give. Nothing left but…_

_They were going to kill him. He had nothing but his life to give. It was all they could be coming for. He couldn't let that happen. He'd made a promise. He'd promised Sam that he would come home. He had to survive._

_A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Jack lashed out. His elbow smashed into the guard's face with enough force to make his fingers tingle. Spinning with a roar, he struck out again, this time connecting with the guard's smooth jaw._

_"Jack!"_

_Sam? Her voice was far away, trapped somewhere deep within the compound. What was she doing here? How had they found her?_

_"Jack, please…"_

_They were hurting her. Raping her. No! She didn't belong here. Sam deserved better than to die in this filthy pit. She was innocent. She shouldn't be here._

_"Jack!"_

_I'm coming, Sam. I'm coming! She wasn't in this cell, but the guard would know where she was. Rage fueled him, made him lightning-quick as he reached for his would-be tormentor. _

_Blue eyes flashed up at him in fear as his hands wrapped around a slender neck, and squeezed._

* * *

Sam was no stranger to nighttime noises. As silent as Jack was when he sneaked out of bed, he wasn't so quiet when he got downstairs. She'd gotten used to being awakened by sounds of muttering, or the opening and closing of kitchen cabinets.

So when Sam blearily became aware of far off distress, she did what she always did—she reached out to Jack's side of the bed, expecting to find nothing but cold sheets. When her hand encountered skin tacky with sweat, she realized she should have opened her eyes first.

The unexpected contact startled him as much as it did her. Sam bolted upright just as Jack flung out an arm, his elbow catching her across the temple. Her vision flashed white, leaving her blind to the fist that followed. Her lip burst with a splash of blood, coating her teeth with a coppery tang.

"Jack!" she cried, hoping to break through the grip of his dream. He was dreaming. He had to be. "Jack, please…"

A blurry, dark shape took form above her, looming in her clearing vision. She saw a gleam of rage in his eyes, but they were sightless, lacking focus. Her lips parted to plead once more, to wake him, but the sound was strangled by hands clamping down on her throat.

_Oh, god._ He was going to kill her. He didn't see her, she believed that with all her heart. He wouldn't realize it was her under him until he woke up in the morning and saw her body. What would he do, and found her body lying beside him, not breathing? It would end him.

"Ja—" He squeezed tighter, preventing her from even coughing.

Her hands scrabbled at his ineffectually, her legs kicking instinctively as she writhed beneath his weight. A little whisper of reason spoke to her. He would expect his attacker to struggle. She was feeding into his nightmare.

Sam went as limp as she could, but it wasn't enough. He continued to squeeze, unrelenting. Her vision tunneled; she was running out of time. Her hand stroked his wrist, feeling the adrenaline-fueled tension trembling there. _It's all right, Jack_. It was all going to be okay.

She squeezed his arm, brief enough that it wouldn't be interpreted as an attack. She squeezed again, then a third time.

She repeated the process, fighting the swirl of unconsciousness tugging at her.

_One. Two. Three._

Again.

_One. Two. Three._

_One. Two—_Jack blinked.

_One. Two. Three._

Confusion filled his eyes, and then horror as he realized who was beneath him, and what he was doing to her.

_One_—His arm tore away from her as Jack reared back, a cry escaping him.

Sam choked at the sudden influx of air. Her vision pitched, light-headed at the rush of oxygen filling her starving lungs. Jack reached out, shaking, and her body flinched. It was reflexive, without conscious thought. Sam felt him recoil at the sight of it, and knew that single motion had done irreparable damage, as impacting as the pain wracking her body as she coughed.

When her senses returned, she didn't know how long later, she was alone. Turning on the light, she found the sheets red beneath her, bloodied by her split lip. Pain seared her senses, her eye already tightening with the onset of the inevitable swelling. Blindly, Sam reached for her phone, dialing the first number that popped into her head. The number she knew would always be answered.

"Charlie..." Her voice was little more than a croak, and ended with a desperate wheeze as her breath seized in her throat. "Charlie, I need you…"

If Charlie replied, she couldn't hear it. Her vision again lost its struggle to function, and darkness washed over her as her body collapsed. Her last conscious thought centered on one thing, one person alone.

"_Jack_…"

She'd lost him again. Maybe this time for good.


	30. Chapter 30

_A/N: Yay! It's the weekend. Woohoo!_

* * *

Charlie got to Sam's just in time to see the EMTs about to load her into an ambulance. Her front door was wide open to admit a stuttering stream of cops and rescue teams coming in and out of her home. As he got closer, he saw that the doorjamb was splintered where the lock had been kicked in.

His gut wrenched painfully. Who'd kicked it in? He could only hope it had been the rescue squad. Charlie ducked under the yellow tape being strung around the sidewalk, only to be halted by a police officer in a dark uniform. "Sir, I'm going to need you to step back—"

"No, you don't understand, she called me, I'm her friend—"

"Sir, please step back—"

"Charlie!"

His gaze flashed to the rattle of the gurney as it bumped over the curb. Sam struggled to prop herself up while a pair of paramedics maneuvered the stretcher to the back of the waiting ambulance. He glared back at the police officer, who released him with a shrug of his brow.

Charlie pushed past him, surging towards Sam. The paramedics paused before loading her up, letting him catch up with them. He gripped her hand as soon as he was in reach, reaching out with his free hand to brush sticky bangs from her face.

An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth, fogging with each ragged breath. She reached up and tugged the mask aside to speak, revealing an ugly gash that split her lip nearly to the tip of her chin. A bruise was already swelling her left eye; Charlie's finger traced the edge of it, a lump forming in his throat.

"Sam, what the hell happened?"

"Jack—" she gasped, eyes wide. "You have to find Jack, Charlie."

Alarm washed over him, realizing he hadn't seen Jack on the sidewalk. Nor was Jack here with Sam. With Sam injured, there was nowhere else Jack could be. Unless… Oh, god.

"Where is he, Sam? Did something happen—?" Did whoever do this to her do the same to Jack? Or worse… was he dead inside the house? Had the cops come too late to help him?

But then a horrible, disgusting thought occurred to him. Jack had been struggling. In Charlie's few visits to the couple he'd noticed the tension between them. He'd seen the shadows in Jack's eyes, and the bruised dark circles beneath them. No doubt he'd been facing nightmares for weeks now. He'd heard, he'd _heard _the horrors that came with PTSD, but it couldn't happen to them. Not Sam and Jack.

It couldn't be what happened here, but still he felt his lips moving, asking the inevitable, unthinkable question.

"Sam… did he do this to you?"

Sam blinked, hesitating for a harrowing, tell-tale moment before shaking her head no. "No—no, he didn't—"

"Sam." She was too shaken to lie well. Charlie read the truth in her eyes, and his heart dropped six stories. "Tell me the truth. Please."

Tears filled her eyes as her lips twisted, trying not to cry. "He—he didn't mean to. He didn't—didn't know—" She was beginning to hyperventilate, her breaths coming in sharp gasps.

"It's all right, Sam," Charlie soothed, rubbing her wrist gently. "It's okay, just take deep breaths…"

"Won't help," one of the paramedics cut in succinctly. He replaced Sam's mask with a firm hand, effectively ending the conversation. "There's damage to her trachea. With any luck, it's just temporary, but we gotta get her to a hospital."

It was only the Charlie saw angry red marks at her throat. _Sweet Jesus_…

He turned back to the paramedic. "Let's get moving then." When the paramedic moved to protest, Charlie beat him to it. "I'm riding with her."

Sam uttered a muffled protest, clawing at the mask over her face. Charlie pulled her hand away, and she spoke again. He saw her eyes, and heard the words despite the obscurity of the mask. _Find him_, she pleaded.

"I will," he promised. "I will, Sam, I swear to you. But I gotta make sure you're okay first. You know that."

She did know it. It had been word one from the get-go. His job was to make sure she was safe, and until he knew for sure that she would be all right, it wouldn't do any good to find Jack. If Jack had done this, Charlie knew he was long gone.

Jack would keep his distance, until he knew that he was no longer a threat to Sam. And that was only if he didn't do something stupid before Charlie could get to him. He needed help, and once Sam was taken care of, Charlie would get Jack that help. He owed Sam that much, but he knew that he would only let Jack near Sam if there was absolutely no chance he could do this again. He wasn't about to put Sam back in the line of fire.

As it was, Sam passed in and out of consciousness on the way to the hospital. The bruising on her throat had come with severe swelling, which continued to worsen the closer they got to the ER. It started to squeeze her trachea shut, slowly cutting off her airway. They had to intubate, as insurance against it getting so bad they'd lose her completely.

Charlie was forced to break off when they wheeled her into the ER, leaving him to pace the waiting room. Hours passed, and finally the doctors were confident enough to come out and tell him she'd be all right. They were keeping her overnight, but she'd make a full recovery. He could even take her home the next day.

That left Charlie to pick up the pieces. To find Jack, figure out whatever the hell had happened to make him attack Sam, and then convince him to come back to her. But before that, Charlie had to determine whether the desire to save Jack outweighed the need to keep Sam safe. He hoped that he could accomplish both, but he also knew that there was a very real chance that he would have to choose one over the other, and each of his friends would expect him to choose the other.

Jack had to recover his senses, and soon. Sam was going to need him, and for god sakes the woman deserved a break. But even if everything turned out, even if it didn't—it didn't really matter. Charlie knew he would never forget the sight of Sam lying bruised and beaten in a hospital bed. Not for the rest of his life. And he would never let it happen again. That much he knew for sure.


	31. Chapter 31

_A/N: Here's a super long chapter to tide you over until Wednesday! Enjoy!_

* * *

Sam sat in her lab, staring at the paper in front of her. She knew she should feel something. Shock. Surprise. Outrage. After all, the enlarged image splashed across the front page may be grainy and dark, but it was a gross violation of privacy, and was downright distasteful.

FIRST DAUGHTER FOUND BEATEN AND LEFT FOR DEAD, the headline read. The font was garish and blunt, lacking any sense of style beyond 'eye-catching'. The sheet-laden bundle on the depicted stretcher was blurred and indistinct; it may as well have been a cadaver, which Sam was sure something the newspaper intended. But there was no denying that it was her house on display, her red front door wide open for the parade of EMTs and policemen.

The hospital had released her a few days ago. Charlie had offered her a place to stay, at the apartment he still rented from when he'd been helping her track Jack down. Today was her first day back in the real world; back to driving herself and going to work beneath the mountain. The tabloid had been the first thing she'd seen, walking into the gas station that morning. One glance and she'd turned to walk right back out.

She'd been trying to avoid the looks of curiosity and pity she was sure had been coming, but if she'd really wanted to nip all that in the bud, she shouldn't have taken refuge here. Here faces in white lab coats watched her every move, waiting for her to crack. And why shouldn't they? Her life was out of control, so why wouldn't she do the same?

It didn't help that she looked as much of a mess as she felt on the inside. Her chin still throbbed against the butterfly sutures holding her skin together, and her throat ached. And her eye—it opened, but was still swollen to point of blurring her vision. She was a sorry sight, and she knew it.

But as horrible as the stares were, Sam didn't dare leave. She didn't dare leave the mountain, when the mountain was the only thing that could keep her busy. Nothing else could provide enough distraction for her mind to forget the fact that Jack was gone. And she couldn't go home; she didn't want to think about the sheets ruined with her blood, the emptiness that taunted her with Jack's absence.

Charlie was looking—he'd assured her he was, and she trusted that he was, though she knew Charlie was on the fence of what he would do when Jack actually turned up. He might bring Jack home, but she acknowledged there was a chance Charlie might strangle him first.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the tabloid, Sam wondered if finding Jack would be enough. The world was looking for answers. Charlie, the doctors, the police… they all wanted to place blame somewhere, and Jack was the only person who fit the bill. Jack would willingly shoulder the blame, but it was Sam's fault too.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. No one ever wanted to say the words; they could ruin a career, follow someone the rest of their life. She'd been so careful to not push him over the edge that she'd let his distress slide. She should've called him on it. She shouldn't have backed down so easily when she'd asked him about his trouble sleeping. Made him go talk to someone, or something.

But then again, maybe bringing his nightmares up in the first place had been the catalyst to all of this. If she hadn't mentioned it, maybe the dreams would have eased, maybe they wouldn't have gotten so much worse. Not so quickly.

_Enough_.

Sam crumpled the newspaper into a ball and slung it across the room. There was no use agonizing over it. If Jack wanted to come home, he would come home. He'd run away from her. He must've been terrified, horrified, to have left her alone.

Sam suspected he'd been the one to call the ambulance that had saved her life—none of her neighbors had owned up to calling 9-1-1 themselves. But it didn't disguise the fact that when she'd opened her eyes she been bleeding alone and afraid in an empty bed. He had left her.

Had he even checked to see if she was still breathing? Or had he seen her body and assumed she was dead, calling the ambulance out of habit or in an effort to cover his tracks? Was he even her Jack anymore? That night he hadn't been, not until he'd woken up and she'd seen the horror wash over him. Was his break on reality persistent? Or was he still himself, and he was staring at the same tabloid she was?

The thought turned her gut to lead. It dropped heavily, physical pain knifing through her stomach. If he'd seen the magazine, then whatever was running through his mind couldn't be good. He'd always teased her about her sense of responsibility, but he was just as guilty. He cared for his team, felt beholden to them—she suspected it was a driving factor behind his reluctance to walk away from black ops.

It was time to get past her own anguish. There would be time for that later. She'd bitterly told herself that Charlie could find Jack this time—see what had happened the last time she'd dropped everything to find him. But fear cut through the bitter betrayal numbing her senses, bringing the world back into stunning clarity.

Sam needed to find Jack, and soon. Before he decided to do something stupid.

* * *

Catherine poked her head into Sam's office. She hadn't budged since Catherine had left her there nearly four hours ago. It was unnatural, in Catherine's opinion. Samantha Carter was the most passionate, vibrant young woman Catherine had ever met. She was always moving, constantly digging into some new mystery or sifting through data. Seeing her so completely and utterly still was, well… it was simply unnatural.

They hadn't spoken about what had happened. Catherine had seen the stories and been horrified to see the injuries that were so much more grievous than the vague news reports had stated. And considering the news had Sam languishing near death in some state-secret hospital, that was saying something. But Sam hadn't said a word about it, and Catherine knew better than to pry.

PTSD was a volatile beast, and sadly it often affected more than just the individual saddled with the diagnosis. It affected friends, loved ones, and clearly Sam hadn't emerged from the incident unscathed. Peeking into Sam's office at her unmoving form, Catherine resolved right then and there to be there for the young woman whenever she did need to share.

She turned the corner, entering Sam's lab proper. She made it to the waist-high lab table before Sam blinked, seeming to register her presence with a serious lag time. Blue eyes looked up at her, one partially hidden by swollen lids. Even past the bruises, she could tell Sam's thoughts were a million miles away—Catherine immediately kissed her intention to discuss Dr. Halstrom's newest theory goodbye.

"I can't be here."

Catherine heard the words; she'd seen them coming a mile away. Even before the recent incident, Sam hadn't been herself. For a few tense weeks, Sam had been distracted from her work by Jack being home alone. The Samantha Carter who'd first come aboard two years ago hadn't made an appearance for months.

"Where else should you be?" Catherine kept her voice gentle and without judgement. This was her chance to be the listening ear Samantha most likely needed. Who knew what kind of support system Sam had outside of work? Suddenly, Catherine regretted not taking the extra steps to know her colleague better.

No answer was immediately forthcoming, and Catherine tried to find it deep and Sam's eyes. "You know you're safe here…"

Sam's head shook no, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. "That's not—No." A deep breath filled her lungs. "Jack's missing," the young woman released suddenly. "I have to find him."

This Jack seemed to make a habit out of disappearing. Catherine supposed she understood how he could want distance after what had happened, if Jack was indeed the one who had harmed Sam. But she wondered if it was fair for Sam to continue to feel such responsibility for the man's wellbeing.

Catherine slid onto a nearby lab stool, perching on the seat against the protest of her aging joints. She reached out, wrapping her hands around the nearest of Sam's. She looked the young doctor in the eye, looking for the truth and hoping she'd recognize it when she saw it.

"Sam… Are you sure you're all right?"

Catherine sensed that what Sam needed now was a soft touch, rather than a firm hand. Her suspicion was proven correct when Sam's eyes brimmed with tears, her lips quivering with the effort to keep her features blank.

"He's not a monster, Catherine," Sam whispered.

Catherine rubbed Sam's wrist reassuringly. "I never thought he was."

"He didn't—he didn't mean to hurt me," Sam continued, the words pouring from her like a confession. They came in a rush, as if in speaking slower the opportunity to share her story would slip her by. Catherine wondered how many people had bothered to ask Sam what had happened. How many people asked anything more than 'who did it', and who bothered to truly listen?

Catherine vowed that if none had, she would proudly be the first. Settling herself in more comfortably, she rested her arms against the lab table. She regarded Sam gently, focusing on her and only her. She said not a word, hoping the younger woman would continue. She did.

"He wasn't even awake—he was dreaming," Sam explained, brushing her tears away as they started to spill. "He thought he was back, back _there…_ and when I touched him—" She hesitated, gaze falling flat once more. "I shouldn't have touched him," came the whisper. "I knew better than that."

"I don't think you had any more control over the situation than he did, my dear." Catherine soothed. "These things have a way of happening no matter how careful you are."

Sam sniffled, swiping at the tears now streaming from her eyes. "When he realized what was happening… Oh, god, Catherine. His eyes—"

Catherine could only imagine the shock, the horror of seeing a tormentor's face melt away to reveal the visage of a lover. And if Jack felt as deeply for Sam as Sam clearly felt for him, Catherine knew the effect must have been devastating. "What did he do?" she prodded gently.

Sam could only shake her head. "He let me go, but I blacked out. When I opened my eyes again he was gone; he didn't leave a note, and he hasn't tried to contact me since." Her voice shook, and this time Catherine could hear the undercurrent of fear. "If I can't find him… I think he's going to do something stupid."

No other words were needed. Catherine knew the pain of heartache, knew the ends to which it could drive a person. When her own… Her heart tripped, startled by the wash of anguish flooding from the door she'd kept closed for so long. She swallowed. When her own love vanished so abruptly, so long ago, she once thought she'd die from missing him. For years, it had felt as though she couldn't go on without Ernest. Somehow, she'd gotten through it, but Catherine sensed that Sam and Jack may not have that luxury.

"Go," Catherine urged, giving the hand between hers a forceful pat. "Find your Jack. Take all the time you need."

Sam blinked, before a watery smile shook her lips. "Thank you… But—before I go…"

Her body rose from her stool, crossing to the counter against the far wall. Hesitating only slightly, Sam plucked a folder from its surface and returned, sliding the thick compilation of documents towards Catherine.

"I've been thinking… The cover stone. I know we've kind of disregarded it as being anything useful, but I think we need to take another look at it. And I think I've found someone who might be able to help. I've been meaning to contact him myself, but…" She trailed off. Catherine filled in the blanks herself, and understood.

"Go," she repeated. "I'll take care of it."

"He's lecturing in New York at the moment. He'll be there for the next few days," Sam offered, climbing off her stool and beginning to gather her things. "His theories are laughable at first glance, but I really think you should give him a shot."

Catherine nodded, giving the woman a reassuring nod. Sam paused, her damp cheeks flushing. "Thank you again. For everything."

And with that she swept out of the room. Catherine turned back to the folder, opening it gingerly to peruse the first few pages. She absorbed the details quickly.

Name: Daniel Jackson. Son of Melbern and Claire Jackson—both deceased. Studied at Brown under some of the brightest minds academia had to offer, and recently earned his doctorate, only to put himself on the fast track to being laughed out of every scholastic society in the world.

He was young for a doctorate, if not quite as young as Sam had been. Nevertheless, he was evidently disarmingly intelligent, a master of over a dozen languages and a child of multiple cultures. He'd traveled with his parents around the world, until their death.

Intrigued, she read deeper, and nearly laughed when she saw the topic of his most recent paper, the one he was currently presenting in New York. The Egyptian pyramids as landing pads for… alien spaceships.

Catherine blinked. _What?_

Was Sam joking? The man was a crackpot! What could this man possibly have to offer the project?

Slowly, though, her knee-jerk reaction gave way to reason. Sam clearly had not been joking. Even if she was a prankster by nature, which she was not, she would never joke about something like this. Not with this project, with the time and effort and passion the girl had fed into the device and puzzling through how it might work.

Catherine kept reading, learned more about Jackson's absurd theory. Each new point she read flew in the face of everything she knew as an anthropologist in her own right. But if Sam was right about him, the secrets he could uncover for the project had the potential to be staggering. But in perhaps a bigger revelation, Catherine realized that Sam had effectively declared her own suspicions about the artifact. She did not believe the ring to be terrestrial.

It was a theory they had long danced around, with no one single person daring to say the words. The facts were all there, and no doubt Sam had put them together long ago.

The artifact was composed of a mineral not found anywhere else on Earth. It surpassed the human race's comprehension of astrophysics, both currently and at any point in the past. There was the possibility of more devices existing elsewhere in the galaxy, and if there were, then it couldn't possibly be manufactured by any human culture on the planet. And now Sam wanted to talk to Daniel Jackson, the archaeological world's resident conspiracy theorist.

Catherine sighed shakily, closing the folder.

She was too old for aliens.


	32. Chapter 32

_A/N: Here we go again! :) _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Jack stared at the tabloid in front of him. In the wake of finally coming to his senses, miles from home with no clear recollection of how he'd gotten there, the scrap of newspaper was the only information he had about that night. As he'd read the article attached to the front page picture, flashes of memory had exploded in his brain.

Terrified blue eyes staring up at him, pleading for him to stop. The sound of her choking, gasping for air. Blood against his skin, spilling from her chin. The throbbing at his elbow, from where he'd struck her.

The rest was a blur. Nothing but snippets of panic and confusion until he discovered he was here at a flea-bitten hotel almost fifty miles from the Denver city limits. He must have hitched a ride part of the way, but he couldn't remember. Nor could he remember if he'd called the ambulance shown in the photograph.

Had someone else found her? Had he left her there, alone? _Oh, God…_

Jack repeatedly caught himself, his hand inches from the phone. The urge to call her, or Kawalsky even was nearly irresistible. But just when he thought he could do it, he hesitated. Doubt washed over him, swamping him until he could barely gasp for breath.

He had no business calling her. As if he hadn't done enough damage already. She deserved better. He couldn't even bring himself to call Kawalsky, to find out if she was all right. Was too terrified to call her. He couldn't bear the thought of Sam not picking up. Whether she was still in the hospital, too weak to injured to answer, or if she simply refused to take his call… He couldn't face either possibility. It was simply safer to stay away.

The whole situation should never have happened. Jack should have stayed away from the get-go. He knew he wasn't good. He hadn't been good since long before that last mission. He should have called it quits then, and if he hadn't been able to walk away from the job, he should have walked away from Sam. It should never have come to this… to where he had to wonder if he'd murdered the one good thing he still had.

The dark path he'd started down when he first accepted his post to black ops was swallowing him whole. The slow descent to imminent implosion was nearing an explosive finale. He felt it deep in his bones. Jack had known it was coming; he'd known that night he'd come home after his first kill. He'd thought he could fight it, thought Sam would be enough. And he sure as hell thought he'd be able to keep Sam from going down with him.

Sam might have saved him; she was the only one who could have. But she didn't deserve the life sentence it was, and he sure as hell wasn't going to put her in the line of fire again. He was a walking time bomb, a live grenade that had already blown up in her face once. She was going to be safe from him, if it was going to be his last dying act.

His last dying act… that had a certain ring to it. It stank of self-righteousness, but the taint was more romantic than the cowardice of plain old suicide. It would be a cold comfort to Sam, when she was the one inevitably called in to ID his body. He doubted she'd appreciate the sentiment, but Charlie would. Maybe one day he would let her in on the secret. In the meantime, Jack was left sitting on the edge of the bed, debating the best way to go when a knock came at the door.

For a heart-stopping moment, Jack thought it might be Sam. That she'd come to save him, to forgive him when he didn't deserve it, and to tell him how freaking stupid he was for running away.

But it wasn't Sam. It was two Air Force officers, one a Major and the other a Colonel. Both seemed wary, uncomfortable in the dingy ambience surrounding them. Jack wondered absently how the motel attendant had responded to the arrival of the two men. Their crisp, clean uniforms were a stark outline against the grungy backdrop of the motel parking lot.

Jack admitted them, waving a hand of silent, begrudging invitation towards the lone armchair planted by the window. They could arm wrestle for it, for all he cared. He returned to the bed, plopping himself down to stare at the soiled carpet beneath his sneakers. If he looked like he was disinterested, he couldn't care less. He didn't care about them, and he wasn't about to stand on ceremony.

The officers didn't bother to wait for his go-ahead before they launched into their spiel. Beginning with the typical bullshit smooth-over they filled the roles of condescending-as-hell bobble heads to a tee. Their words were hollow, and remarkably false in their praise of his work in the field. Apparently he'd conducted himself with the honor befitting an officer.

Funny. If they asked him, he'd have said he'd conducted himself as well as any other prisoner. Whipped dog, starving beast… whichever. The one thing he hadn't felt like in his time as a POW was an Air Force officer.

But then they mentioned a job; something in their hesitation as they mentioned it caught his interest. He listened as they described—in the vaguest, most tantalizing of details—a mission they'd like him to join.

He'd met their gazes then, at which point they tripped over their words. The mission was dangerous, they mumbled. An attempt was made to obscure the fact he might not come home.

If they'd done their research, they might have known the call of death was an enticement, not a deterrent. Jack accepted without hesitation.


	33. Chapter 33

_A/N: I know. It's short-ish. But the whole thing was too long, and I'm taking a class that strongly encourages us to not divide our attention between multiple stories for the four weeks the class lasts so I wanted to break it up a bit. I have enough chapters in reserve to keep things moving along at a weekly pace, and I may still sneak in some writing here and there in the meantime, but I believe it would be wise for me to post judiciously._

_Thanks for being patient. I promise it'll be to the betterment of all that I take the class seriously.  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Sam paced.

It wasn't often she was stumped. It had been easier to find Jack when he was in the middle of a desert. But somewhere in the American Midwest? Forget about it. No top-secret spy plane would help her here. She didn't know if he was even in Colorado still. For all she knew, he could have high-tailed it to California and was halfway to Hawaii by now. Doubt plagued her, halted her thoughts and distracted her from all else. Was she making the right decision, to be the one to go after him now? What if her rescue had been part of the catalyst- if it had been anyone else who had tracked him down, pulled in the markers to get him home, would he have kept himself so isolated from her? If she saved him a second time, what then? Would he be grateful, or resentful? He'd always been the one to protect her, to defend her... would her rescuing him a second time only do more harm to his self-esteem?

There was no point denying it; she didn't know if she was doing the right thing, and even if she was, she didn't have a goddamn clue where to start.

The police were an option, but not one Sam wanted to use yet. She kept it in the back pocket of her mind, intent on leaving it as a last resort. They might have resources that would help, but in her brief conversations with them about the events of that night, she'd realized they were no better than the press that were howling for answers. If they looked for Jack O'Neill, they'd be on a manhunt for a perpetrator, the culprit who had beat her senseless. They and the press both could care less about the fact that he was a war hero, about PTSD or flashbacks. They saw that only a monster could bring harm to Samantha Carter, the prodigal First Daughter, and Jack would fill the role of their villain quite nicely.

To her great relief and gratitude, Charlie had offered her his place to stay. Her townhouse was still quarantined by police tape, the sidewalks teeming with reporters and rubberneckers who hoped to catch a glimpse of either her or some sordid piece of evidence. At least here, in the small studio apartment Charlie had made his home, she had enough peace and quiet to think, even if her only thoughts were that she had no idea of whom to turn for help.

The clock on the wall beside the window ticked in time with the ominous countdown in her head, marking the steady closing of her window of opportunity. A dark whisper burrowed into the deepest recesses of her thoughts, urging her to hurry lest she find him only to realize she was too late. That this time the body she risked discovering would not be a victim of some faceless interrogator, but of Jack's own hand. And it would be her fault for not helping him sooner, for not seeing his distress earlier than she had.

Sam jerked as her phone blasted its ringtone in her pocket, it's tuneless melody startling her from her thoughts. Her heart leapt; maybe it was Jack, finally calling her to let her know he was all right. Or maybe Charlie had found something.

She snapped the phone open, jamming it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Sammie!" Sam blinked at the unexpected voice.

"_Dad_." The word caught on her tongue, nearly causing her grimace at the sour taste it left there. "How did you get this number?"

A chuckle trickled its way across the line, lifting her hackles at the audible condescension. "You think I can't get a hold of my daughter's cell phone number? I am the President you know."

"Our tax dollars at work," she sniped. It was small consolation that November was right around the corner. Elections were coming and the political pundits were hard at work. The Carter reign was coming to the end of its second term, riding high on the conclusion of a good four years. "What do you want?"

"Can't a father check in with his daughter?"

"You haven't before." They hadn't spoken since the day she'd earned her Bachelor's degree, and even then it had been a simple matter of publicity. There hadn't been a personal word between them since the day she'd stepped down from her duties as First Lady and Daughter, since she'd ceased to be of use to his administration.

"Maybe I'm just curious about your work on the project—"

"Speak to General West," Sam shot back. "He receives weekly reports on everything we're doing. That's supposed to be the whole point of a chain of command, isn't it? So the brass doesn't have to interact with us lowly scientists directly?" Jacob didn't immediately respond, and Sam lost what little patience she had. "I'm busy—I'm sure _the President_ won't have a problem finding the General's number."

She moved to hang up, only to pause when a tinny voice shouted her name through the speaker. With a sigh of irritation, Sam put the phone back to her ear. "What?"

"I know where Jack O'Neill is."

Sam's heart thudded painfully against her ribs, her breath stuttering in her lungs. "What?"

"I know where he is—"

"Tell me!"

"I will," the President said calmly. "But only if you come to D.C."

Sam blinked in shock. "What? Are you kidding me?"

"If it's the only I'll get to have a face-to-face conversation with my daughter, then so be it. I'll share the intel I've got here in front of me, but only if it's in person." Jacob's voice was hard; Sam knew that tone intimately. He wouldn't back down. He'd gladly keep the information from her just out of spite. The only question was whether the information was worth rolling over for.

Sam made her decision without blinking. "I'll be on the next flight out." She'd handle her father's manipulation later. _After_ she'd gotten Jack back.

"There's a hop on standby for you at Peterson. It'll take you directly to Andrews."

"Fine." Sam didn't care. The sooner she got there, the sooner she got the information. The sooner she got the information, the sooner she could get to Jack. End of story. "I'll be at the base in forty. Make sure I get through the checkpoints."

She hung up the phone without offering a proper goodbye, trying to ignore the shadow of doubt lurking in the pit of her stomach. Something was off, but she didn't have time to figure out what. Right now, she had a plane to catch.


	34. Chapter 34

_A/N: Ahhh craziness! I got so wrapped up with my class I nearly forgot to update! *headdesk* Here it is. Sorry if it's a little rough, but my editing/revising time was cut drastically short this week.  
_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Sam blew through the halls of the White House, trailed by several Secret Service agents. She registered the happy smiles of the staff, which quickly faded when they realized she wasn't there for a social visit. Guilt briefly made itself known, and Sam vowed to make it up to them. Later. Right now she only had one purpose.

She burst into the Oval Office, ignoring the aide trying to run interference. Apparently, he'd missed the memo that President Carter was expecting her. She didn't care if he was in the middle of a phone call with the Italian Prime Minister or her Majesty the Queen of England. Not an ounce.

She pushed open the doors to the Office, registering her father's lack of surprise at her unceremonious entrance as he glanced up at her. His hand waved the aide away, who closed the door behind her as Jacob bade his phone conversation good-bye.

"Sam—"

His greeting was silenced by her hands slapping against the oaken desk, her palms smacking its flat surface as she met her father's satisfied gaze with all the razor-edged focus she had. "Where is he?"

Jacob's smile was bright, clearly not minding the ire directed at him. "It's good to see you, Sammy," he said, reaching out to take her hand.

Sam snatched her arm away, batting his fingers aside. She straightened to pull herself out of his reach. The 'off' feeling she'd had back in Colorado had grown exponentially with every mile closer she'd gotten to D.C. Now she was on the verge of crawling out of her own skin, disgusted by her father's sickly sweet demeanor.

"No more games," she growled. "You wanted me here. I'm here. Now _where_ is he?" When he didn't answer, and his features didn't shift in the slightest, her heart sank. "You don't know. You lied—"

"I do know where he is." Jacob sat back in his chair, hands folding over his stomach. "I wouldn't lie about that. What exactly do you think of me, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes burned. She blinked back her tears, grasping tightly onto the tendril of hope that still curled in her chest. She ignored her father's question. "If you know where he is, then tell me. Or so help me god I am walking out that door and you will never see me again."

His eyes searched her, taking measure. No doubt he read the steely resolve in her stance, and knew the only reason he'd gotten her this far was because of the prize he was dangling over her head. A moment later he blinked, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. "He's in Colorado."

Sam closed her eyes, fighting a groan. For all the time she'd spent wondering how far he'd gone, she'd come all the way to the D.C., only to learn he was right where she'd started. Now she was half a continent away, wasting time. "_Where_ in Colorado?"

"Cheyenne Mountain."

Confusion swamped her. He was in the mountain? _Her_ mountain? How long had he been there? It didn't make any sense. He had no ties to NORAD, and still had no idea what she really did on Project Giza. What was he doing there? Had he come looking for her, to make amends? Surely Catherine would have told him she was gone—

Sam straightened. Her business was done here. "Thanks," she said curtly. "I'm leaving." She turned to head for the nearest exit, almost making it to the door when Jacob called out.

"He _was_ there. As of half an hour ago, he's no longer there."

Slowly, Sam turned. "What do you mean?"

Jacob stood, the knuckles of one hand resting lightly atop his blotter. "Captain O'Neill was recruited into a highly classified mission early this morning. He and the rest of his team departed thirty-six minutes ago."

What the hell kind of Special Forces team deployed from Cheyenne Mountain? And how could anyone recruit a recently rescued POW into a mission? "I don't understand…"

"Sure you do, Sam. You've spent enough time looking at the damn thing…"

She froze. _No. _"The device isn't operational." _Please, god, don't let it be true…_

"You made a good call, getting Dr. Jackson involved," Jacob said, coming around his desk. "It only took him two weeks to do what you've been trying to do for two years."

Sam turned away from her father, taking out her phone to dial a familiar number. _Come on Charlie_, she urged as the other end rang. _Please, pick up._

"If you're looking for Captain Kawalsky," Jacob supplied, "he won't answer. He went through the same time as O'Neill."

Sam dropped the phone. Her mind was spinning, her chest seizing against the realization that struck her. For the briefest of moments, she'd felt a thrill of excitement when she realized that the device had worked; it had generated an actual, viable wormhole. But then it sank in realizing that same wormhole had carried her family away to some far distant planet on the other side of the galaxy. Her team had never discussed what would happen once a wormhole was actually established. Eventually, she supposed they would have had to send a team through—what else could they do? And with the possibility of other devices out there, who knew what else they might find?

But they weren't ready for that. It had taken two years, a super computer, and a team of the best minds America had to offer to get the device to work even once. The wormhole would work only one way. Whoever went through the device would have to find some way to generate another wormhole from the other end to come home.

Who was going to do that? Jack? Charlie? Neither of them had a background in wormhole physics. She doubted anyone on the Special Forces team was qualified to know what the hell they were looking at, let alone how to operate it. They could be stuck there, god only knew where, on some alien planet with no way home. And she wasn't there with them. She should be.

And suddenly, Sam realized the true reason for her father's phone call out of the blue, the real motivation behind the sudden need to see her.

"You son of a bitch." Darkness tainted her voice, and Jacob's jaw hardened under the accusation. Sam turned towards him fully, fueled by terrified rage. "How dare you."

"Sam…" The Presidents' tone was warning, but Sam didn't hear it.

"You lured me here," she accused. "You wanted me here so I couldn't try to keep them from going."

"They needed clear heads, Sam, you know that." Jacob's tone was calm and smooth, rational. But Sam saw through it in an instant.

"Bullshit."

Jacob's eyes widened, an angry temper sparking. "What did you—?"

"You heard me," she fired. "That's utter horseshit. This isn't even about them. It's about _you!_ You've always hated Jack. You saw an opportunity to get rid of him for good and you took it!"

"We needed the best men for the job!"

"Oh, don't even—"

"Jack O'Neill isn't anywhere good enough for you, Sam, and I'll be the first one say it. But I also admit that he is a damned good spec ops officer. We needed him on this team—"

"No, you wanted him gone! That's it!"

"Damn right I do!" Jacob thundered, his fist coming down hard against his desk. Sam jerked, startled by both the blow and the admission. The following silence quivered with tension, until Jacob pointed a finger at her. "Look what he did to you, Sam!"

Sam blinked. Her injuries reasserted themselves with a sharping nagging pain. Her eye throbbed in time to her pounding head, and a sticky dampness against her chin told her that she'd reopened the tear of skin at her chin in shouting. Her throat tightened against reflexive tears as memories itched at her eyelids.

"It wasn't his fault—"

Jacob scoffed. "Jesus, Sam, you're defending him?"

"He didn't know what he was doing!" she cried, taking a furious step forward. Indignation clawed at her insides, seething at the presumption _anyone _thought they knew what happened that night. "He's traumatized, still suffering what he went through in the desert. He spent four months of _hell_ out there, which is exactly why he is unfit for duty. You had absolutely no business tapping him for any mission, let alone one that would take him only god knows where without backup!"

"He jumped at the chance," Jacob sneered.

"And why wouldn't he? If I know him at all, and I do, then he was already looking for a way out. And you handed one to him on a silver platter." Tears burned behind her eyes. "He was already searching for a way to end his own life, and now you've effectively wiped him from the face of the Earth! You sick son of a bitch!"

"You watch your language—"

"You sent my family on a suicide mission—!"

Jacob rounded on her, eyes blazing. "Your family is _here_!" he roared, finger jabbing his desk. "Me and Mark! We are your family!"

"No!" Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She blinked heavily, her heart falling. She really was alone now. "_This_ family died with Mom."

The President froze, his heaving chest the only movement in a suddenly still body. His nostrils flared, eyes wide. Sam had committed a cardinal sin, mentioning her mother. They didn't talk about Dorothea Carter, or the fact she was no longer with them. They didn't say a word about how she died, or who was driving. The subject was unspoken taboo, _verboten_ in an effort to preserve the perfect-family image the First Family had needed to get into office.

Jacob's mouth opened, but at the last minute he hesitated, giving Sam the chance to cut in before he could say a word.

"Jack loved me when no one else knew me as Sam. They all saw Samantha Carter, daughter to Jacob Carter, and I let them. Until Jack there was no reason for me to be anything else. Even you... You loved what I did for your administration, and that's it." Her father's features twisted, gearing up for an indignant protest that was nipped in the bud. "And don't try to tell me different," Sam cut in, bitterness hardening her tone. "Not when you could barely find it within yourself to be civil to me once I chose to focus on school."

His cheeks flushed, confirming the fact he'd deliberately remained away when she'd earned her Master's degree and her Doctorate. That he'd deliberately eschewed her birthdays, the holidays, never so much as bothering to pick up the phone and call.

"You could have made the effort too, Sam. Don't put all this on me!"

"Was I really supposed to come back here, to take up a single moment of your time? When you had made it so perfectly clear that I was no longer of any use to you?"

"Jack O'Neill nearly killed you!" he countered, attempting to shift the focus of conversation away from himself.

"And so you send him to die," Sam finished. Her voice was dull; she couldn't find it within herself to be surprised anymore. "An eye for an eye, is that it? Because if it is, I'm sorry but you've failed spectacularly. Whatever you think he's going to face out there is nothing compared to what would have happened here on Earth if I wasn't able to speak to him."

Sam sighed, turning away. "But you had to take the decision away from him. From both of us. You made sure I wouldn't have a chance to talk to him before you shipped him off to get killed. You didn't give me the chance to tell him that I forgave him."

"You _what?!_" Jacob sputtered, finally coming around his desk to meet her. "Sam…"

"Of course I forgive him, Dad. He was incapacitated, and he didn't get the help he needed. That's my fault. Not his. He's done nothing but love me." She glanced up at him once more, meeting his bewildered, shocked features. "He loves me, totally and completely. I love him. So yes, I forgive him."

"Sam!"

"That's what families do, Dad. They forgive each other. They go to bat for each other. They make sacrifices, they do what's right even if it's hard." Sam turned to her father, straightening. She'd never bothered to explain herself, or Jack, to the President. It had never been his business, and if he'd been too small minded to see the good in Jack from the start, then it was his own shortcoming. But maybe it was time for her to be the bigger person, and just show him. "Jack was declared physically fit for full duty the end of my junior year of high school, did you know that?"

Jacob stared at her, his expression clearly conveying his shock at the change of subject. And he clearly didn't care. Sam forged on, regardless.

"He could have gone anywhere he wanted, and I figure any command would be more interesting than Andrews. It certainly didn't help his career any. But he didn't go to another command. He didn't because I was still here. He gave up the chance to advance his career in order to waste a year at Andrews because it meant he would be closer to me." Sam swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. "And I could have gone to any school in the world I wanted, but I chose Denver. Do you know why?"

"For _him_—"

"For the same reason he chose to stay at Andrews. Because the thought of being somewhere he wasn't made my heart hurt. I wasn't ready to give him up."

"He joined the Special Forces, Sam. You can't tell me—"

"Jack wanted to make a difference. Something he saw in me and wanted to share. I wasn't thrilled that he was throwing himself into danger, but it made him feel like he was accomplishing something, making the world a better place. I don't begrudge him that."

"But—"

"Captain Kawalsky has been my friend for years. When Jack went missing, _he_ was the one who put his career on hold to help me find him. _He_ sacrificed his time, his work, called in countless favors—all to help me find Jack. _He's_ the one who came to my home in the middle of the night, and held my hand until I was released from the hospital."

The fire returned to Jacob's eyes at the reminder of what Jack had done to her, the physical damage done by the man she claimed to love. Sam didn't give him room to cut in.

"Now, tell me, Dad: when was the last time you sacrificed anything for me?"

The President blinked. His mouth opened, then closed.

"Or for Mark?" she continued, relentlessly. "When was the last time you even spoke to Mark? I can tell you that he's refused to take _my_ calls for almost eight years now."

She wasn't even sure where her brother was, at the moment. Every so often one of their few mutual friends would call to catch up, and let something slip, but she'd heard nothing for almost a year. He could be on a charity mission to Cameroon for all she knew. Or maybe he was back in Colorado too. Either way, he was as far from Sam as Jack now was.

Whatever family they might have been able to salvage after her mom's death, it was gone. The Carter family was splintered; well and truly broken. But Sam had gotten lucky; she'd found a new one, even when she never believe she'd ever deserve one. Someone out there had taken pity on her, forgiven her for killing her mom, and had blessed her with two men who loved her and cherished her as deeply as she did them.

But now they'd been torn away from her. They were stranded, and she was wasting time here trading wind with a man who had long since stopped being anything close to paternal.

"I thought you were my family too, Dad. I might not be yours anymore, but you were mine. There was a time I would have given everything for you." She huffed a humorless laugh. "Jack helped me realize I was worth more than that, and you sent him across the galaxy for it. And the sad thing is: I might have been able to forgive you for that. I could have forgiven you for the fact that we haven't spoken in the past five years, and for the fact you can't stand to see me find happiness. You even undermined my work for the past two years by preventing me from seeing that wormhole established, but I would have forgiven you."

"Sam… Sammy—"

"But you sent my family through that wormhole, making sure that I was here. You made sure that I wouldn't get a chance to speak to either of them. That I wouldn't get to say goodbye." She swallowed, painfully. "Jack went through that wormhole still believing that he was a monster for hurting me. He might die out there thinking I hated him, or feared him. And I won't ever forgive you for that."

Jacob stood there, framed by the nation's colors and the Seal of the President. Looking at him, Sam thought he'd never looked so alone. But he had what he'd wanted. He'd had the Presidency for two terms, and his administration had done a lot of good. Whether or not it was worth what he'd lost in order to have it… well, that was something he would have to decide on his own.

She was done here.

"Where are you going?" Jacob asked, watching hawk-eyed as she turned towards the doors.

She spared him a sidelong glance, her thoughts already traveling west to Colorado. "I'm going home."

"There's nothing there for you anymore, Sam!"

"And that's where you're wrong," she delivered calmly. "With the Doorway having proven itself functional, there's a lot of new data to go over. I bet we're going to have to rework a lot of our existing theories, and I can't wait to get started."

"Come on, Sam!" Jacob darted forward, catching her by the elbow. Sam froze, her eyes glued to the hand on her arm. His fingers were warm; she felt his touch so keenly she could discern each finger, each pad of his fingertips digging into her skin.

A moment later he released his grip, and Sam looked up to meet wide, shining eyes. She'd seen her father in the best of times, and in the worst of times. Right now, Jacob Carter looked as he had when she'd woken up in the hospital almost nine years ago, and he'd told her the news she already knew. That her mother was dead, and life as she knew it would never be the same again.

"Sam, please," he pleaded. "Just stay…"

"You should also know that Jack has a way of beating the odds. If anyone can make it back from the other side of the galaxy, he can. So while I'm going over the new data, I'll be there waiting for him to come home."


	35. Chapter 35

_A/N: And here's the weekly update. Just one more week to go, and then I'll be returning to this full time! Woohoo! :) This is not quite edited up to par, so please forgive any grammatical errors you find. I figured the posting was more important than the minor mistakes._

_Enjoy!_

_P.S. I know I'm behind on responding to reviews these past few weeks. I've been reading them, and loving the feedback, but been too busy too respond as I should. I'll do my best to play catch up this week!_

* * *

Gazing out across the dunes, déjà vu filtered across Jack's awareness. If he hadn't just hurtled through a vacuum and come out freezing and battered on the other side, he might've sworn he was on a desert on Earth—the same one from which it had taken him four months to escape.

Jack turned from the stark, barren landscape to survey the camp the rest of the men had erected while he'd been on watch. Tents were up and tarps served as impromptu flys to keep the sun off them. It wasn't too shabby, all things considered, though he knew the others wouldn't see it for the fact they were stuck here for the foreseeable future.

Eyeing the progress of one Doctor Daniel Jackson as he struggled his way up the dune, Jack didn't envy the man in the least. Jack could give a flying leap about whether he made it home, but the same couldn't be said for the others. The others had families, girlfriends and parents who would feel the ache of their loss all too keenly. Kawalsky, for instance. He had Sam relying on him to come home, though he hadn't said as much.

It had surprised Jack to see his old friend in the briefing room inside Cheyenne Mountain. It had also been a shock to find Lieutenant Ferretti filing along behind the rest of the hand-picked team. The mission's commanding officer was Colonel Marshall, a man whose shadowed eyes were reminiscent of those Jack found in the mirror every morning. A traitorous whisper in Jack's mind questioned what the man's dark secrets were, whether he was fit to lead. But then Jack remembered that he didn't care if his C.O. was a walking time bomb; he didn't mind if he was caught in the blast radius.

No matter how he accepted his own demise, though, Jack couldn't escape the judgement that seared him whenever Charlie looked at him. He couldn't tell if it was hate, or resentment, but it was scathing nonetheless. He could only be grateful that the man hadn't tried to confront him before they disembarked through the wormhole.

Wormhole. It was so far-fetched he couldn't help but believe it. He didn't understand it, not in the slightest, but he believed it. He had to, considering he'd entered the device underneath a mountain and come out inside a freaking pyramid. That was where Colonel Marshall was now—checking the payload hidden within the motorized cargo vehicle they'd brought with them.

Jack turned from where Jackson was pawing through his vest pockets—tossing various essential items to the sand in the process—only to find himself face-to-face with Kawalsky's accusatory glare. Jack bit back a sigh; he'd known it would only be a matter of time before Charlie cornered him. And he couldn't deny he needed to know how Sam was doing, and Charlie would be the only one on this planet could tell him.

"Charlie—"

"Shut up." Kawalsky's voice was cold. Dark eyes glittered at him in the sunlight, regarding Jack with hard calculation. "What the hell are you doing, Jack?"

Jack blinked, but didn't respond.

"Answer me, dammit!" Kawalsky shouted.

"You told me to shut up—"

"Don't be an asshole," Kawalsky countered swiftly. "How could you take this mission? You know you got Sam waiting back home—"

"Sam doesn't need me," Jack cut in. "She's better off without me."

"That's not your decision to make! It's not mine either, and good thing too or else I'd shoot you right now for what you did to her!" Jack rocked back on his heels, both stunned and relieved at the outburst. He was vindicated to know that someone felt the same way he did, but still felt that small nugget of surprise at the vehement rage directed at him from an old friend.

"You almost killed Sam!"

"No shit!" Jack responded. "What the hell do you think I'm doing here! I'm making sure it doesn't happen again!" Kawalsky stared at him. Jack swallowed a curse; he'd nearly given too much away. He cleared his throat. "This isn't the right place for this—"

"Really? 'Cause I think an alien planet is a great place for it. There's no one to choke to death out here."

Jack's breath caught in his chest. His gaze traveled across the landscape once more, searching for anything to distract him from the accusation. But when he looked back at Charlie, his friend's features had softened, and somehow that was worse than the hate.

"She's worried about you, you know," Kawalsky said softly. Jack met his eyes, and saw nothing but grudging forgiveness. "And you're a goddamn idiot for taking this mission without seeing Sam first."

"You're here too, you know," Jack pointed out needlessly.

"You think I wanted to be the one to go back to Sam and tell her that I let you go through a freaking wormhole to an unexplored planet without backup?" Kawalsky scoffed a mirthless laugh. "No, thank you."

Jack almost smiled. In his mind he could imagine Sam's reaction to such a revelation, and no, he wouldn't wish that on anyone. But imagining her face made his chest ache. He pushed Sam from his thoughts, and the effort took more out of him than he wanted to admit. "So that's why you're here? For her?"

"Damn straight," Charlie replied without hesitation. "You told me to take care of her, and as far as I'm concerned, this is all part and package. Sam needs you, regardless of what I think, and she sure as hell deserves to have her say before you eat a bullet. So, yeah— I'm gonna make sure you get back in one piece. You hear me?"

Jack held Kawalsky's stare, unsure of how to respond. Charlie's only chance of getting him back through the Stargate was if this planet truly was uninhabited. Otherwise, Colonel Marshall would follow through on his secondary mandate and Jack would help him. And of course, there was the one small matter that had everyone up in arms.

"That'll only happen if Jackson gets the damn thing to work," Jack said finally.

Kawalsky snorted, then turned to look at the scrawny man that had brought them here. Jack followed his gaze, and froze. "Where is that guy, anyway?" Charlie remarked curiously.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me…" Jack grumbled.

"Captain!"

Jack looked over to the opposite ridge of their campsite, and found Ferretti standing there, rifle slung across his chest. He was pointing down the ridge, and Jack's eyes tracked further across the sand until he spotted the plume of dust tracking its way across the horizon.

"Aw, shi—"

Jack cut Kawalsky's curse off with a call over the radio to apprise the Colonel of the situation. Marshall ordered him to mount a pursuit, and within moments Kawalsky was sprinting through the sand at his heels with Freeman and Cotteran. He left Ferretti, Walsh, and Brown to man the base camp with the Colonel.

The sun beat down upon them, glinting off the sand. If Jackson was still alive when they found him, Jack was going to hogtie him until he got the device to work. He had the sinking suspicion that it would be the only way to keep the good doctor out of trouble.


	36. Chapter 36

_A/N: Sorry for the nearly-late update. But the good news is that my class is done and so I'm already working on the next few chapters here. It feels awesome to get back to it. As some of you might have noticed, I've caught up on responding to reviews, which feels even more awesome._

_Thanks for being patient and sticking with me! I'll be posting more often, hopefully. Enjoy!_

* * *

Catherine heard Samantha long before she saw her. Startled gasps of "excuse me!" and "hey!" echoed down the corridor, and Catherine could only imagine the younger woman barreling along the hall with that single-minded focus of hers. Only this time her fervor was no doubt fueled by a volatile combination of panic and fury, as by now Sam was fully aware of the fact that the very man she'd left to find had ventured through the Stargate in her absence.

"Catherine!" Sam came into view in a flurry of blonde hair and flashing blue eyes. Catherine stepped up to meet her, closing the distance to clasp her by the arms. Sam trembled under her hands, eyes flooding with restrained tears. "Catherine, I got your message—"

"Sam…"

"Did you see him?" Sam's voice quivered with emotion. "Was he all right? Did he—?"

"Samantha!"

Catherine caught Sam's gaze, holding her steady. Sam chest hitched. "Catherine, please…"

Carefully Catherine maneuvered the both of them into the nearest room. There was evidence of a recent presence—stacks of paper, a pen laid out on the black surface of the work counter, a cold cup of coffee next to the computer—but it was empty now.

Sam came without fuss, letting Catherine close the door behind them before asking again. "Did you see Jack?"

"Brown hair, brown eyes, this tall?" Catherine lifted her hand above her head to indicate, and Sam's head bobbed in a nod.

"That's him," she stated, almost deflating with the realization. Blue eyes darkened, but refused to lose their shine, still on the verge of tears. "How did he…?"

"How did he look?" Catherine finished. When Sam looked up at her, she sighed. "He seemed… haunted."

Sam's head bowed, tension bleeding from her in a quiet sigh. Left behind was a frame slumped with fatigue and harried by worry. Taking a good look at her, Catherine saw she was paler than when she'd left, and her limbs shook minutely, her hands particularly, where they lay in her lap. "Sam…"

"Did he say anything?" the younger woman asked, her voice no longer so urgent.

Catherine swallowed, and she took a moment to center herself by sitting on a nearby stool. It was a smart choice. Being on the same eyeline with Sam made it easier to face that piercing gaze of hers. "I didn't get the opportunity to speak with him."

Sam blinked. "What? But you said—your message…"

"I wanted you to know that there was an O'Neill here. I couldn't be sure, I've never seen a picture, but… when I tried to speak with him, General West interrupted. He cited the nondisclosure agreement, maintained that the soldiers and the civilian contractors couldn't interact on the grounds that one party may have more information than they other." Catherine leaned forward, taking Sam's hands in hers. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

A blonde head shook her guilt away. "It's not your fault, Catherine. It's his."

"Jack's?"

"No. Well, yes, it is. He accepted the mission, but… they should never have tapped him in the first place."

Catherine straightened, sensing a heavy secret. "What do you mean?"

And with that the story poured out of Sam like a flood bursting from a dam. She revealed everything, from the phone call that had pulled her so abruptly to Washington, to the revelation that her own father, the President of the United States of America, had abused his authority in order to send Jack through the Stargate, presumably to his death.

It explained the sense of unease that had plagued Catherine throughout the mobilization of the base, when she should have been euphoric at the sudden progress of her project. She'd been realizing her father's dreams, and her own, but all she'd truly been focused on was the fact that something wasn't right. She'd thought it was just the fact that Sam was out of touch, but it wasn't until now that she knew the truth of how right she'd been.

It all made sense. It shocked her that Sam knew Captain Charles Kawalsky so closely as well; it would seem that the President was going out of his way to eliminate those who bound his daughter to the region. Was it his goal to isolate her completely?

"Who else went through?" Sam asked tearfully, wiping her eyes.

Catherine nodded, and turned to gather the list she'd prepared for just this question. She handed it to Sam, who perused the list briefly. She cursed a moment later. "What is it?"

"Lieutenant Ferretti."

Catherine didn't make the connection. "You know him?"

Sam swallowed, pushing the list away from her before running her hands across her haggard features. "Lieutenant Louis Ferretti was in the same Iraqi prison as Jack. They were rescued together."

Catherine's eyes widened. "And you think…"

"That they gave Jack every reason to go on this mission? Yes. I do. He never had a chance. They made it impossible for him to say no, even if he wanted to." Sam's tone was dark, roiling with anger. "But he didn't, did he? He didn't want to."

Sam's eyes filled with tears, and they spilled over onto her cheeks before Catherine could do a thing to soothe her. A sob escaped her, wracking her thinned frame. In the stark light of the subterranean office, Sam's injuries were pronounced. The laceration to her chin was inflamed and damp, as though it had recently been split afresh. The bruise at her temple stood out vividly against her skin, digging deep beneath her eye to emphasize her exhaustion.

With her shoulders bowed as they were, her head low, Sam looked very much alone.

"Sam…"

"He didn't want to stay here, Catherine. He couldn't just come home and talk to me. He went across the universe to get away from me."

"No, Sam…"

"He left! He went through the Doorway without even trying to talk to me! He didn't—" she caught herself, lowering her raised voice. "He didn't say goodbye. He's going to die out there, thinking I hate him."

Catherine could only wrap the girl in her arms as she sobbed. The shoulder of her shirt grew damp from Sam's tears, and for a long moment the younger woman allowed herself to be held. When she recovered, it was sudden and alarming.

Sam straightened, standing with a violent scrape of her stool. Catherine let her hands fall to her side, recognizing the moment as over. Samantha Carter had fire in her eyes once again, and it could only bode ill for whomever she now had in her sights.

"Sam, what are you going to do?" Catherine asked, causing the girl to pause in her powerful stride towards the door.

A blonde head turned, features dark. "I'm going to speak to the General."

"What—"

"He kept you from Jack deliberately. The General didn't want you speaking to Jack because any mention of me might have weakened Jack's resolve to go through with the mission. He was following orders."

Catherine swallowed a gasp. "Your fath—"

"Those orders were unlawful, and they both knew it. I'm going to make damn sure that both of them are held accountable."

There was nothing to do but follow as Sam vacated the room, the force of her departure nearly sucking all the air out with her. Catherine hesitated only a moment before following; she had never before seen this side of Samantha Carter. If asked, she'd say only a select few ever had. The media had never caught a glimpse of the bristling fury that surrounded her, accentuating every single movement until a bystander could only stop and stare, and wonder what would happen next.

Then, when that moment passed, Catherine hurried along behind her, unwilling to let the promised confrontation play out without being there with a front row seat. She may be getting on in years, but the hellion in Catherine's heart was giddy in anticipation. General West had long belittled her work, even going so far as to rip control of the program from her hands in the critical hours of the mission. But now there was someone in this mountain who was unafraid of challenging the might of his shiny four stars, undaunted by the imperious gaze with which he observed all that lay before him.

Sam would give him what-for, and Catherine would be a happy spectator to it. She trailed Sam's steps as the woman made her way up three sets of metal stairs, blowing through the control room in order to climb directly to the main briefing room. When Sam stormed into the office that West had claimed as his own, it was without pretense or fanfare.

The General's cheeks instantly flushed with rage, and the bellow that boomed through the enclosed space startled the already spooked guards that Sam had ignored. "What is the meaning of this?!" West demanded, bluster betraying his surprise and unpreparedness. Catherine wondered silently if the General had expected Sam to be away longer than she had. Perhaps that accounted for the uncharacteristic bluster.

But to her credit, Sam didn't back down, or waver even an inch. She closed the distance between herself and the General's desk, leveling a hard stare on him and him alone.

"You know why I'm here."

The statement was abrupt and unadorned, chilling in its delivery. Sam's usually bright tone had dropped away, leaving nothing but hard anger behind. It was tempered from what might have been a rage down in the empty office, honed into a lethal blade.

All bluster faded away from the General's demeanor, and soon he was returning Sam's stare with an unyielding eye of his own. When he spoke, though, his words were for the guards who had failed to run interference. "Get out."

The General's eyes flicked towards Catherine, who immediately realized he expected her to obey the same orders. But she didn't move until Sam regarded her smoothly. She nodded. "It's all right."

Catherine tamped down the surge of disappointment that rose within her at being denied the chance to watch the General's undoing; she nodded in return, then turned to leave. Sam was more than capable of taking care of herself. Catherine could be of no help to her in there anyway. Catherine let the door slam shut behind her, but remained close.

Just in case.

* * *

Sam stared long and hard at the man in front of her. She disregarded the stars on his soldiers, and the supercilious expression laid over his features. Beneath it she saw nothing but a man, innately flawed and tainted by a lust for power.

She wondered if he'd enjoyed groveling to her father the President, just to maybe one day become something more than a candidate.

In the end, she didn't care.

The man was already talking, blowing smoke about respect and Chain of Command.

"Shut up," she delivered bluntly. The General's round chin bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes hardened dangerously, but he remained silent. "I know what you did."

"Captain O'Neill was needed for this mission—"

"I said _shut up_." Her voice dropped another octave. "You didn't need Jack O'Neill for anything. He might have been the best once, and once upon a time your needing him might have been true. But he has just spent four months in a POW camp. You and I both know that he'd been tortured for information. You have no idea if he's still any good in a field. A psychological evaluation might have told you, but Jack was never evaluated."

"There wasn't time—"

"My father tried to unload the same pile of crap on me, and I'll tell you the same thing I told him: you can make excuses all you like, but the truth of the matter is that you sent a mentally unsound man into combat."

The General leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands atop his desk. His features remained smooth, devoid of any kind of remorse or chagrin. "You would do well to mind yourself, Doctor Carter, or I will have you removed from this base."

"Try it," Sam retorted. "I dare you."

West blinked. He'd expected her to roll over instantly, no doubt. He certainly hadn't expected her to have a backbone. Idiot.

"Because the only thing that will save your career," she continued, "is if I personally see Captain Jack O'Neill come back through that Stargate alive." The General's features hardened, but paled minutely. She had his attention now. "I have already informed my father that if Jack O'Neill fails to return, I will charge the both of you with murder."

"That's ridic—"

"Is it really? You exercised deliberate intent when you refused to let Dr. Langford speak to Jack before he left. And no doubt the documents, whatever documents there may be, have been doctored to hide the conspiracy between you and my father, but even then I still have you on negligent homicide. Any shrink who looked at Jack's file would tell you that he was not fit for duty."

The General paled, visibly blanching for the first time. "You'll never prove anything. This entire operation is classified. None of this will ever see the light of day, let alone go to court."

Sam's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Then I will tear apart your life until I find something to hang you with. Every decision you've made, every order you ever gave in the last twenty years will be scrutinized. Your spotless career you're just itching to retire from will be dissected, exposed for the world to see." She paused briefly, relishing in the man's sudden unsettled features. "Scum like you are creatures of habit. I seriously doubt your exemplary career is as clean as you'd like everyone to think."

The General had nothing to say to that. His glare turned dangerously chill, but Sam wasn't fazed. "Are you threatening me?"

"I wouldn't dream of threatening you, General. It's a promise."

A long moment of silence passed, and neither of them said anything. Finally, Sam decided she'd wasted enough time. Her insides were starting to resume their quaking, and the nausea had returned at the thought that Jack might not make it back.

No. He would. He had to.

Leveling one last hard stare at the General, Sam considered what last parting shot she might throw at him. But no barb came to mind, and in the end, she simply turned on her heel and left, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Catherine stood waiting in the briefing room, staring through the windows at the Stargate. Sam crossed the room to join her, and when her eyes rested on the device's dormant shape, a deep sense of loss washed over her at having missed its few moments of life. The chance to see her work realized had been stolen from her, she realized, just as Jack had been. It hurt, more than she ever thought it would.

"Tell me everything."


	37. Chapter 37

_A/N: Here we go. One step closer to the end. Enjoy!_

* * *

Jack stared into the crackling flames before him, the scent of burning wood cloyingly sweet in his nostrils. The villagers laughed and smiled around him, celebrating their fresh victory. For a moment, Jack could almost let himself stop to wonder at their circumstances. Daniel Jackson had stumbled upon a society he now believed to be descendants of Earth's ancient Egypt. Their god, whose symbol Daniel wore around his neck, was in fact an alien, who looked human but very clearly was not.

When Jack and his team had returned to the pyramid, they'd been ambushed. They'd nearly been executed, and would have been if Daniel Jackson hadn't proven his mettle. He and his villagers had provided enough distraction for Jack and the others to disappear into the crowd, with Jackson quick behind them. Now they hid in a small cavern, listening to the winds beyond the rock wall, the false peace it afforded dangerously alluring.

But despite the overwhelming sense of security here in this cave, Jack refused to let himself fall victim to it, just as he refused to see this Ra character as anything but a threat. God or no, he looked like a man, and until he was death and his brain cooked, he would continue to think of ways he could be killed. And so, while the others smiled and celebrated their recent victory, Jack remained on edge, all too aware of how few of them there truly were.

Colonel Marshall was dead, dropped in the first ambush inside the pyramid. Ferretti had reported back to him on what he and Kowalsky had missed while chasing Jackson and getting caught up in the native village. Cotteran had died as well, his body never recovered from the antechamber of the pyramid. And now Brown was lying dead in the sand. As impressive as Jackson's resurrection and consequent rescue had been, his merry band of villagers hadn't been able to save everyone. So now Jack had five men to work with. Only five trained men and a gaggle of teenagers against an army.

Well, he couldn't forget Jackson. Or Jackson's prize wife. What was her name? Sherry? Cherie?

Jack's gaze lifted to the woman, only half-listening as Jackson struggled through the native language recounting his experience inside the pyramid. Whatever her name was, she was beautiful, giving new meaning to the term 'desert flower'. She was way out Jackson's league and to Jack it seemed strange that she was as attracted to the Doctor as she was.

But then, who was he to judge? The same could have been said about him and Sam. Come to think of it, Share reminded him a little of Sam. She had spirit, and seemed to subtly resist the expectations forced upon her as both a woman and the daughter of the village chief.

Even now, the woman's eyes were not on her task of grinding grain, but rather on the conversation that was happening around her. An intelligence shone in her gaze that set her apart from the cowed villagers who bowed so willingly to a supposed god. In another time, on another world, Jack suspected Sam and this quiet desert flower might have been friends.

But there was no point in considering that possibility. Sam would never come here, and he'd be damned if anything from this godforsaken planet found its way back to Earth.

Jack refocused on the conversation, and realized that its tone had shifted dramatically. Jackson's eyes skewered him from across the fire, his usually unshuttered features dark with judgement. Jack met the hard stare unflinchingly, refusing to be cowed. He had an idea what Jackson might know—there were only certain things that could elicit that kind of damnation from fellow man.

Charlie leaned forward, responding to the sudden tension. Jack saw the motion, but didn't respond, and in his lack of reaction Charlie stood down. Dark eyes still watched, ready to move if necessary—hopefully in Jack's defense. But how long that devotion would last once Jackson spewed the truth was anyone's guess.

"You going to tell them about the bomb?" Jackson spat, the words searing hot in the cave's sudden silence. "Or should I?"

Now all eyes were on him. His team fell deathly still, shock sharpening their gazes until Jack could almost feel tiny holes burning through his skin from the heat. The villagers looked back and forth between all of them. The only sound was that of Sha're and her grinding stone. Those sharp, dark eyes took in the whole scene, seeing more than anyone gave her credit for.

"Jack." Charlie's voice brought his focus back to the topic at hand. Jack turned his head slightly, meeting his friend's hesitant gaze. Next to Kawalsky, Ferretti stared in just as much disbelief. The Lieutenant was just a kid. Too young for this. But then, they'd both been too young to die in the Iraqi desert. Maybe they were just old enough to die in an alien one.

"Jack, what bomb?" Charlie asked.

"It was a contingency plan only," Jack stated bluntly. "It Colonel Marshall's mission, and I was read in on the brief for if Marshall was incapacitated."

"Well, now _he_ has it," Jackson delivered heavily. "Ra intends to send that nuke back to Earth, along with the mineral they mine here, which will magnify its effects a hundred fold."

It was as if the air had been sucked out of their little cave. Ice stole into Jack's blood, sending goosebumps pimpling across his skin. That kind of firepower—the entire mountain would blow. The mountain, the Midwest… maybe even half the continent. And then the nuclear fallout—_Jesus. _Suddenly, the human race seemed very, very small.

"Not if we blow it here, first." Jack leveled a hard look at all of them. The village kids stared blankly at him, not understanding a word he said. But the rest of his men, even Jackson, all fell dangerously still.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jackson asked, condemnation thick in his tone.

"Exactly what you think it means, doc," Jack replied scathingly. "If we blow it here, now, that bastard won't get a chance to send it through the Stargate back to Earth."

"And kill everyone on this planet? _Including _ourselves?"

"YES!"

The word echoed across the small space, and Jack felt the whisper of desperation in his mind. Sam was back on Earth. Sam and everything else any of them had ever known was under threat from an alien threat, and as absurd as it sounded when it was said aloud, it didn't change the fact that it was true.

"What gives you the right to decide who lives and who dies?"

Jack glared at the archaeologist, both angry and shocked at the man's holier-than-thou judgement. "I am the ranking officer of this mission. _That_ gives me the right. We are all under orders to eliminate any threat we find on this side of the gate, and if that means blowing us all to hell, then so be it. And before you go all native on us, Doctor Jackson, you might want to remember which side of that Stargate _you_ came from."

His footsteps were the only sound in the cavern as Jack left the fire, silently seething. He sat heavily against the wall in a dark corner, sucking in a deep breath. Fire burned in his chest, and it wasn't all anger. It was fear, and not for the people on this planet. Sam. He'd come here to lose her, but she'd followed him anyway, hadn't she?

A few moments later, a body settled next to him, and Jack knew without looking who had dared to come after him. Kawalsky's shrouded form was silent, but Jack could feel the betrayal oozing from his friend. It rolled off him in waves, but when he spoke, his voice was calm.

"It's one thing to throw away your life, but everyone else's?" Kawalsky shook his head. "That's cold, man."

"We can't let them send that bomb through—"

"I'm not saying we should!" Charlie countered, an edge finally creeping its way into his voice, offended at Jack's unintended insinuation. "But blowing us all up… that's not Plan A. It's not even Plan B. It's freaking Plan Zulu, and if your head was on straight, you wouldn't even consider it until the shit _really_ hit the fan."

Jack blinked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"This is clearly the stupidest thing you've ever tried," his friend continued unashamedly. "I have the strongest urge to shoot you for not keeping me in the loop, but I figure I'll let Sam handle that."

"Sam won't ever find out what happened here."

"You think she won't be able to put two and two together? Or did you seriously come here without seeing Sam's name all over that damned program?"

Jack had no rebuttal. It was true. The pieces had clicked together faster than Jack had ever puzzled anything before. Granted, it didn't take much—Cheyenne Mountain, beyond-top-secret project, theoretical wormhole physics… and the haunting memory of Sam gushing about her new job. It seemed so long ago now, but he'd made the connection within moments of laying eyes on the damn thing.

"She's gonna blame herself, you know. You die out here, and she'll see it as her fault. Sam opened the Stargate. Somehow, some way, _she_ made this all possible, and if it kills you, it's on her."

Kawalsky eyed him through the shadows, daring Jack to try and convince him that Sam wouldn't react just that way.

"She'll leave the project, you know," he continued. "She may wash her hands of physics altogether. She'll lose everything she ever loved, and all because you have your head so far up your ass you don't see the truth."

"What truth?"

"Why the hell are you here? You think they couldn't find some other Black Ops Captain, one who _hasn't_ just come back from a 4-month stint as a POW?"

Jack froze. What was he saying? Jack had been necessary on the mission. At least, that's what he'd been told, and if he were honest with himself, he hadn't looked much farther into the invitation than "suicide mission," and only was he starting wonder if he should.

"And the one day," Charlie continued, "the _one day_ the both of us are to Cheyenne Mountain to be briefed on Sam's pet project and she's nowhere to be found? Come on, Jack, that more than stinks. It reeks."

Jack blinked. He hadn't thought… he'd thought…

"Sam might be pissed enough that she'd go out of her way to avoid you," Kawalsky continued, as though reading his mind. "But me?" Dark eyes glinted as they rolled above an impish grin. "No way. She still likes me, man."

Jack huffed, mimicking his friend's humor. But truth be told, his heart was now heavier than before. He was slowly coming to terms with the idea that Sam might still forgive him for what he'd done, that maybe he'd been wrong to come here without saying goodbye. But now another concern weighed on him, darkening his thoughts.

In the end, Kawalsky nodded, his job done. "Think about it, then let me know how it factors into your plans."

Kawalsky left him to his thoughts, and Jack surveying his now treacherous thoughts. The clarity of purpose that had strengthened his resolve to die on this planet was now clouded, shaken by the revelation of new facts.

It began to feel more and more like this was an attack. An attack on him specifically. Even so, if it ended there, Jack may not have cared. But it went further than that. By getting him through the Stargate—and now belated Jack fully realized that Charlie was here too—the powers that be had succeeded in leaving Sam alone on Earth.

This attack on him was an attack on Sam. Jack didn't want to think about who might have the desire and authority to pull something like this off, but the thought of leaving Sam alone and vulnerable didn't sit well with him. Suddenly, the situation was more than just himself. But then again, maybe it always had been. He'd just been too out of it to see that.

Jack wiped his palms on his BDUs and rose. It was time to reconsider his strategy.


	38. Chapter 38

_A/N: And here we are. The last chapter of this epic journey. I post it in honor of Shipsgiving over on the GateWorld forum. It's all about family and togetherness and being thankful for what you have, so I believe this chapter is the perfect offering._

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and who have continued to read my story every week. It's been a privilege._

_And now, as always... Enjoy!_

* * *

Sam was almost dozing when she felt the rumble. Her eyes opened with a bleary blink, and when she shifted in her seat a cascade of data reports spilled from her lap onto the floor. She'd been studying them for days, using them as a distraction to keep her thoughts from from the lengthening span of time since Jack's departure. But now she looked to the Doorway—no, the Stargate. She'd have to get used to that.

The stone ring trembled where it stood, but remained dark and otherwise motionless. When she looked to Catherine, though, the Dr. Langford nodded. This was it. In the embarkation room itself, security teams swarmed in, ready to defend the base against whatever alien force might emerge from the event horizon instead of their team. Sam leaned forward, jumping slightly when the first lamp—_chevron—_thumped into a state of illumination. It was happening.

Sam's heart climbed in her throat, galloping a mile a minute. She felt the clank of every following engaged chevron down to the bone. She waited, breathing stilled and almost nonexistent as she watched each light thump into brilliance. She was so close, so tantalizingly close to seeing evidence of her work, proof her theories were correct.

With an explosion of light, a vortex of swirling molecules erupted from the Stargate. It surged towards the window of the control room, making Sam take an instinctive step back. But then she leaned against the control center once more, sucked forward by the entrancing dance of light as it settled into a smooth plane within the circumference of the stone ring.

The glimmering phenomenon stole her breath away. Her heart thundered in her ears, and her mind lured her down wondrous paths of infinite scientific possibilities. It was unlike nothing she'd ever seen, or dreamed she ever would see in her lifetime. But the alluring properties of the wormhole in front of her were washed away by the panic climbing in her throat. No one was coming through.

Had Jackson been able to find the coordinates they needed to dial home? Or had his lack of field experience gotten everyone killed? Worse yet, what if she'd been wrong? What if the devices weren't capable of reintegrated? What if there wasn't any sister device on the other end? This wormhole now might simply be an echo of the outbound wormhole they'd generated a week ago. What if the Air Force had sent a team to their deaths, all because they had believed her hypotheses and trusted that they would be able to find their way home?

The event horizon shimmered placidly in front of Sam, its uninterrupted plane pulling bile up her throat. What if whatever did come through wasn't Jack? What if some alien enemy entered through the door she'd helped open? Any illusion she might have held that humans on Earth were alone in the universe was now shattered, obliterated by the reality of the Stargate itself. Anything could come traipsing through the Gate, and they would be woefully unprepared to meet it.

But as the first silhouette slurped through the metal lamp—a form distinctly human—another, more frightening possibility crossed Sam's mind. What if Jack believed what her father had intended him to, that she had forsaken him, abandoned him in his darkest hour? What if Jack had gotten himself killed on an alien planet, to better escape from the prospect of being alone on this one?

A sob built in her chest, but she swallowed it, an action that nearly turned into a choke when a tall, familiar figure exited the wormhole. Tall, bruised, haggard—but on his feet. Alive. Breathing. Whole.

Jack's eyes tracked to hers, spying her where she stood in the control room. The wormhole snapped shut with a whim, and with it Sam's panic and worry fell away. The resulting void left room for another emotion to bubble up, dark and seething. A new sense of loss washed over her, setting her heart to racing and sending a crackling tingle across her skin.

Sam blinked, breaking the spell of Jack's gaze, and turned. She left the control room without a word.

* * *

Jack watched Kawalsky go through the active wormhole, and let relief wash over him. His team, those few who remained, were safe and back home. But he hesitated before stepping through himself, looking up at Jackson's hail.

"Captain!"

Daniel Jackson looked at him from behind scratched glasses, his features relaxed with inner peace. Jack was glad for him—the doctor had found something of himself here on this planet. So had Jack. And looking at the archaeologist now, where he stood with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of his young wife, Jack was reminded of what he had so foolishly thrown away.

"Yeah, Doc," he replied, letting his stance relax slightly.

Jackson reached out, his fist closed around a hidden object. Jack cupped his hand to receive it, and was startled when the heavy weight of a golden amulet settled in his palm. It was the necklace Daniel had worn on his first trip through the wormhole, engraved with the Eye of Ra—the same meaningless bauble that had started this whole mess and freed an entire civilization.

"Return this to Catherine for me." It was phrased as an order, but Jackson's tone was more of a request. Jack received with an arched brow.

He looked at Daniel with a skeptic glance. "Catherine?"

Daniel blinked owlishly. "Dr. Langford? You know… Anthropologist, about yea high—" He lifted his hand to just shy of shoulder height. "Sixties?"

Jack shrugged. "I'll find her." He pocketed the charm. "Don't worry about it." He turned to leave, but paused when Jackson spoke up one last time.

"You know," he said, just hesitantly enough to imply he owned an ounce of tact. "Back in that cave I couldn't figure out how someone could be so ready to die. I couldn't believe that someone like you didn't have anyone, or anything, to go home to." Thin lips pulled into a lopsided grin. "But I can see that's changed. I'm glad."

Jack regarded the other man, debating how to respond. In the end, he didn't bother to deny it. "I'm glad too." He could only hope that Sam was would still have him. "You sure you two don't want to come back with us?"

"No," Daniel shook his head. "Our home is here."

Jack nodded, accepting his decision. He hesitated for a moment. Then he hitched his rifle higher on his shoulder, ready to leave. "I guess that's it then."

"Yeah." Daniel grinned again. "Have a good life, Captain."

"Jack," he corrected. Daniel nodded in acknowledgement.

"Have a good life, Jack."

It was the last he saw of Daniel and his new life, before Jack stepped through the Stargate to return to his own world. He emerged onto the metal ramp of the embarkation room, shivering and frosty from the nauseating trip. By the security teams had relaxed, reassured that the team had returned and didn't herald an alien invasion. But Jack's gaze was drawn instinctively to the panes of glass set high in the concrete wall in front of him, and instantly recognized the slender silhouette staring back at him.

Jack froze, unable to choose between smiling, waving, calling to her… She was so beautiful, and there she was, waiting. Waiting for him. Hope dared creep over him, lifting his spirits for a tantalizing moment before her shadow stepped back into the light, and he could clearly see her as she turned away from him.

She was pale in the dim light of the room looking out over the Stargate, and her steps were shaky as she moved away. He saw an elderly woman reach out to her in concern—Dr. Langford, if Jackson's description was accurate—but her touch on Sam's shoulder went unnoticed. With a swirl of blonde hair she was gone.

_Shit._ Jack fumbled at the clasps of his gear, desperation turning his fingers fat and clumsy. A lanky airman with sergeant's stripes stepped up to him, ready to begin post-mission protocol. Jack didn't have time for that. Protocol meant isolation and decontamination, and a long debrief that could take days or weeks. Sam would be gone in a matter of moments, and if he let her go now, he'd never be able to get her back.

His pack hit the ramp with a clang, but wasn't in time to escape the impending Sergeant. Despair washed over him just as a hand gripped the barrel of his rifle, pulling it firmly from his grasp as a bulky body planted itself between Jack and the closing airman.

"Here you go," Kawalsky said to the Sergeant, presenting the weapon for turnover. "Help me with this damn pack, will you? One of the clasps got jammed…"

Jack saw the save for what it was. He melted into the milling bodies of his surviving team members, and then pelted headlong towards the door that would take him to the corridor. A shout acknowledged his unauthorized dash, but he'd already spotted Sam moving swiftly away from him. Jack quickened his pace, barely aware of Charlie covering for him yet again.

"Sam!" Jack called out. She kept moving, head bowed. "Sam, wait, please—"

He reached for her, his fingers barely brushing her elbow before she rounded on him, eyes flashing as she yanked her arm away. Her gaze was damp, tears on the verge of spilling over her cheeks—cheeks that were pale and bruised.

A blaze of guilt flashed through Jack's awareness, nearly making him stumble back at the sight of the deep laceration still healing at her chin, and the mottled bruise that painted her temple a mottled purple. He'd done that to her.

He was reminded of why he'd left in the first place, and only her dark gaze of betrayal kept him from turning tail yet again. "Sam…" He reached out to her once more, his fingers twitching in hesitation. "I'm so—"

"Don't touch me," she said, low and warning. Her eyes refused to meet his, instead focusing somewhere below his collarbone.

"Sam, I'm sorry. I'm so sorr—"

"Don't! Don't say—Don't even…" Her lips twisted, and finally she looked up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You don't even know what you're apologizing for…"

"I hurt you." He wasn't an idiot. He knew what he did, and he wasn't about to deny it.

But Sam's eyes hardened, blazing with sudden, quick anger. "You don't get it, do you!"

"I get that I nearly killed you, Sam! Goddammit—"

"I don't care!" she cried, cutting him off. She gestured towards her face. "_This_ doesn't matter! It doesn't even hurt, compared to—" She halted abruptly, swallowing. Jack stared, and when he didn't dare speak, she continued. "You left," Sam whispered. She took a menacing step towards him. "You _left!_"

Her hand snaked out to smack against his chest, and when Jack caught her palm, her angry tug against his hold was half-hearted. "I'm sorry…"

"You left! You were going to throw away everything you had, everything _we _had!" Tears were pouring down her cheeks now, her lips quivering as she tried and failed to keep her emotions in check. "You selfish bastard—"

"Sam, I—"

"No! Don't! I don't want to hear it, Jack! You _ran! _You were going to leave me here, alone." Her voice rose in pitch, ringing sharply through the corridor. "You were—And I…" Her breath caught in her chest. "I can't—"

Her wrist twisted in Jack's hand, her fingers curling awkwardly to reach his, seeking his touch. Jack instantly shifted his hold, gripping her hand tightly. When Sam faltered on her feet, rocked by a sob that shook her entire frame, he caught her, pulling her against his chest.

Sam melted into him, relinquishing her struggle to resist his embrace. She began to sob in earnest, the dam broken to release a flood of tears that conveyed the depth of her fear. Tears burned at his own eyes, and he cursed himself for his idiocy. He'd done more than hurt her, more than struck her.

He'd threatened her with the prospect of living her life alone, of dying alone. Jack knew more than anyone how much such a concept terrified her. She'd already lost so much, so many people, and not only had he nearly made her lose two more—himself and Kawalsky both—but he'd disregarded the one thing that had made the losses bearable.

For her mother's death, and in the horrendous accident that had stolen the life of Geordie, who'd been her friend and protector for years, Sam had been present. Her memories of each might be hazy, or forgotten in the effects of her own injuries at the time, but Jack knew that being there had made their passing easier for her. She'd whispered to him one night that she was in fact lucky, that she'd been present, and luckier still that she'd found someone who would never let her die alone. It was something she'd assumed of him, and something he'd silently agreed to without ever having to say it. And yet, when push came to shove, he'd left to die alone himself, and _that_ was what was truly selfish. By damning himself, he'd conspired to rob her of that comfort, threatened to leave her to face an inevitable death alone.

"You—you can't make that kind of decision," Sam gasped, hands gripping his shirt tightly. "It's not just you. It—It's _us_. It's not your decision anymore. It's mine too. You don't—don't get to decide that fate for me. Not now. Not—not ever…"

"I'm sorry," He whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"When you—you came back… I thought everything would be fixed. But it isn't." Sam sucked in a winded breath, still shaking. "It never was fixed."

Suddenly, Jack realized she wasn't talking about his nightmares, or his consequent flight through the Stargate. "Sam…"

"Iraq didn't just happen to you," she said, her voice calming. Tears still dampened his shirt, and her voice rumbled against his chest. But her breaths evened out, and her trembling eased somewhat, as though the tense burden of secrecy was lifting from her shoulders. "You weren't the only one who was lost for four months, Jack. I left my work here, because I couldn't focus. I was out of my mind while you were out there, not knowing where you were."

Charlie had told him a little about her single-minded focus in helping to find him, but the details remained scarce. Jack had certainly never fully realized just how much he'd terrified her by being captured. He'd been too wrapped up in his own trauma, his own pain, to see hers.

"I never—I didn't think about what would happen past getting you home. And then you were there and I didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry, Jack."

"No," Jack returned. His voice was hard, unwilling to accept the apology she shouldn't have to give. "It wasn't your fault, I should have—"

"I should have too," she countered. "I wasn't there like you needed me to be."

"I was ready for you to be there. I didn't know how to let you help." He'd wanted to protect her, spare her from knowing the horrors he'd lived. Sam was pure, clean and good. To have her know—it had seemed like a betrayal, but Jack could see now that the true betrayal was in keeping her at a distance.

He pressed his hand against the back of her head, reveling in the soft touch of her hair beneath his sandy fingers. Her body bled warmth into his, sharing a heat missed even in the scorching sun of an alien desert. She shifted in his embrace, her arms snaking around his chest. They tightened, pulling Sam closer against him. He sighed, and she followed suit.

"I'm angry at you," she murmured. "I don't think I'll stop being angry at you for a long time."

There was still heartbreak evident in her voice, but Jack detected something else as well, something that shifted her tone from despair to resignation. She accepted her anger, and he did too. They could work with anger, and despite her acknowledgement of its persistence, Sam had simultaneously informed him that, eventually, it would indeed fade.

"I'm not fixed," he said softly, barely a murmur. Her head lifted, bringing damp blue eyes up to meet his. "Something happened out there…" He didn't dare say what, until they were alone in the privacy of their own home. "I got a wakeup call, and I'm better… but I'm not fixed. Sam—I don't know if I can do this on my own."

His confession was met with silence. Jack watched Sam digest the information, read the plea that huddled beneath the veneer of resilience. In his heart lurked the possibility that she might still tell him good bye and good luck, to find his own way home. But a moment later her features firmed, returning to her natural state of resolute defiance he'd come to love so completely.

"You don't have to do it alone," Sam uttered softly, leaning in to embrace him fully. Her chin rested atop his shoulder, and her lips tickled his ear as she whispered her solemn vow. "I'm here. Always."


End file.
